The Information Age
by chivalry-is-dead
Summary: When the year 2012 devastates the world with a Zombie outbreak, it's up to our four Nazi-Zombie-killing heroes to stop it, or there won't be a future to look forward to! Rated T for now, but there's lots of swearing, gore, and a bit of romance.
1. The Long Fight

chiv-id: OMG, ANOTHER STORY? Pfffttttt...I'm a masochist. Derp, but getting more to the point, this is a new story! Been playing some Black Ops lately, so I just needed to get it out of my system! Oh, and if I don't update fast enough, remember to go to my home page here in to check out my other stories! Forgot to mention that in the other chapters I updated, eheh...

Anywho, enjoy the show! Here's my new fic: The Information Age!

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Prologue: The Long Fight

_**MAZ Conference Room Meeting #69. Designate: Representative #43—Hiroto, Mizuki**_

_**Security Clearance-5. Presidential safety discussed. Present: Technician 413**_

_**Location: Schofield Barracks, Quad C, HI, USA.**_

_**1200 hours, January 21, 2012**_

"Representative Hiroto, the President has received our message aboard the Air Force One and has just replied on the secure channel. He and his members will refuel at Hickam and discuss our options there," a technician reported at her console, gathering her papers and legal documents before coming to Hiroto's side. The much older woman was sitting in her chair, thick glasses perched on her pointed nose and eyes squinting at the small lettering that detailed the security issues near Sector H, over in Waikiki. She sighed and moved her fingers to massage the bags and folds, lifting her glasses up slightly before looking tiredly to her young assistant.

"T'ank you, Stephanie," a mix of old Japanese and English colored her voice, as well as a bit of Hawaiian pidgin that progressed more and more with sleep-deprivation, "I don't know what I could have done without choo…" The young assistant looked over her superior and eyed the grey roots that peeked out from her thinning black hair, the baggy white undershirt and purple suit that wore too loosely around a woman her age, and the jade-green baubles on her ears that seemed to sag. Hiroto was being worn down tremendously by the responsibilities.

"I just run the numbers, Representative, but thank you for those kind words," Stephanie bowed politely, Hiroto smiling as she trembled, trying to get up from her seat with a koa cane firmly in her right hand. Stephanie came forward and helped her from her seat before guiding her down the quad's halls to the elevator that had been installed recently in light of her condition. One small, wrinkled and short-fingered hand held onto Stephanie's arm as they went, Stephanie patiently walking with Hiroto to go to the black limousine that waited for them. When she was settled in, the young assistant joined her and they drove off towards Hickam, Hiroto's face lined with worry and expectation.

"You know…" Hiroto wet her lips, remembering that she needed to put her teeth in, "I was supposed to retire this year, yeah?" She immediately began searching for the case with her false teeth.

"Yes, Representative?" it ended more in a question because she hadn't known that, easily getting Hiroto's teeth out of the old woman's enormous embroidered and slightly gaudy purse.

"Hmm…Shimotsuki…" she popped in her teeth, gumming her way to having them fit perfectly in her mouth, "My replacement was Lee Shimotsuki. Good boy…knew his fath'a well. Wanted to be like fath'a, so he did good in school and got good recommendations, yeah? He was such a good boy…" Stephanie knew where this was going and slowly took out a tissue, offering it to the old woman who had a single tear running down her powdered cheek.

"When…you as old as someone like me…" she took the tissue and dabbed a cheek, "Sad to see young ones go. Young ones like Lee…like my grandaught'a…like my grandson…all good kids…"

"It's hard to lose people who are close to you, obaasan," Stephanie called Hiroto 'grandmother' affectionately, hoping that Hiroto wouldn't feel sad anymore.

"Ohh…" Hiroto patted Stephanie's hand gently and with a sad smile, "T'ank you, Stephanie…but you don't have to worry 'bout an old Auntie like me…I'll be fine. I just saying you be careful. Don't want to lose anymore good kids…like you." Stephanie smiled back and gave a small hug, feeling close to the woman.

"Representative Hiroto, Miss Suzutani!" the driver opened the window between himself and the two in the back, "We have a situation! Sector E is being overrun right now!"

"That's Waipio! My sister's there!" Stephanie shot up and ran towards the front of the cabin, getting close to the window, "How bad is it?"

"I have reports of 15 cases within the last 8 minutes," the driver replied, frantically adjusting the radio to hear more, "It seems one of the survivors brought in was bitten!"

"Oh no…" Stephanie put a hand over her mouth and tears started welling up. A resounding thud of a cane hitting the bottom of the cabin caught both her and the driver's attention.

"Section off the infected, save as many as we can," Hiroto's voice, once feeble, was now strong and steely, "Tell the commanding officer '58WJD-HR209', under authorization of the Representative."

"Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am," the driver started rambling off the code while Hiroto wobbled over to Stephanie on her cane, sitting besides the distraught girl and patting her on the back comfortingly.

"Shhh…Stephanie, it will be all right," Hiroto sympathized with her, but now was not the time to lose focus, "Do not worry. They will have weapons. And your sister is strong. Have faith." Stephanie looked up at Hiroto with a tear-stained face.

"I…I'm just so…oh God, it's starting all over," Stephanie gripped her head while Hiroto leaned closer, "My…my sister is the only one I have left! If I lose her, I just…I wouldn't know what to do…" Sobs wracked her small body as she tried to hold in the sounds of her anguish.

"I know…I know…but you must fight now, Stephanie," Hiroto grasped Stephanie's shoulder tightly, "You must be strong, as your sister must be strong. The President will be coming. Believe that they will be all right so that we can give them a future to look forward to."

"…Yes, ma'am," Stephanie wiped away her tears before Hiroto looked outside the window.

"We must all be strong, to survive this…" Hiroto uttered grimly. Outside, there was chain-link fence with barbed wire weaved into it and piled on heavy at the top, insuring that nothing would get in the way of the roads. What was more disturbing were the many groaning, bleeding corpses that were banging on the fence, uncaring that it ripped their flesh or tore off an arm. These creatures of abomination were wrought with maggots and stank of rotten meat and fluids, all clamoring to get beyond the fence to feast upon the driver, Stephanie, and Hiroto. And the fence that protected them went on for miles, the entire island of Oahu now looking like a barbed prison for these dead men, women, and children.

_The dead walked the earth with the living. Apocalypse had come._

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><p>chiv-id: Derrrrrrppp, I know that was a God-awful short chapter, but it's the prologue! What you expect from me? And you might be wondering how this prologue fits into the story, why I picked this location, why these people, whether they're real (they're not, I just made them up, no offense to any Mizuki Hirotos or Stephanie Suzutanis), but you'll find out soon enough in the next chapter or so! And please! <strong>Reviewwwwwwwwwwww!<strong> Would love to know what you guys think of it! Then until next time, bye-bye!


	2. The Escape

chiv-id: Okay, this one is extremely short as well! Even shorter than the last one...which I apologize, but setting up a zombie fic is harder than it looks!

...Pffftttt, no, I just fail at zombie fics apparently. Anyway, hope you enjoy the second prologue! (yes, a second prologue...*falls flat on face*)

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Prologue 2: The Escape

_**Transpired Event #102. Contained Parameters: Ascension Headquarters**_

_**Affirmed Targets: Marine Raiders (1), Red Army (1), Imperial Army (1), Wehrmacht (1)**_

_**Theorized previous interferences: Peleliu Island, Palau; Wittenau Sanatorium, Berlin, Germany (1945 and 1960s); [REDACTED] Village in Peleliu; Breslau, Germany; Abandoned Nazi Theater in Berlin, Germany**_

_**Destination: Abandoned Soviet Cosmodrome en route to Siberia. Status: Critical.**_

"Shit, Richtofen, we're running out of time here!" Tank Dempsey shouted, shooting a whole clip into a zombie that rushed at him, "Don't you have that time machine up and running yet?"

"Patience, zhis is a delicate matter…oh! Hmm, vell, I'm sure zhat wire vusn't needed anyhow, _hahaaaha!_," Dr. Edward Richtofen gave a high-pitched maniacal laugh as he threw out a wire. The MDT had been damaged in the last teleportation, too many zombies rushing in to claw their eyes out and eat their flesh. It was like some giant clog in a drain, and the corpses' blood and rotted skin were gunking up the systems.

"Vodka is running low, too," Nikolai Belinski commented, chugging some of the afore-mentioned alcohol down his gullet before spraying his machine gun at a wave of zombies, catching a few in the head and downing them.

"There is no honor in running, but living to fight for your honor another day is better than this!" Takeo Masaki pumped the shotgun in his hands, blowing away another crawling zombie that attempted to bite at his legs. All four of them were now trying to defend their position on the Lunar Lander in the abandoned Soviet Cosmodrome, patching up the MDT that was malfunctioning. While Richtofen worked at the machine, the other three were slowly running out of ammo trying to keep the hordes of zombies from interfering.

"We let Gersch out of the Kassimir Mechanism, so where the fuck did he go?" Dempsey shouted, trying to reload but instead resorts to slamming a boot into the attacking zombie's face, knocking it back before he brought a knife out and slit it across the throat. The head reared back for a moment, the rotting flesh of its neck no longer able to support it, then fell of the body.

"Maybe he hitched ride on rocket?" Nikolai offered as an explanation, which may or may not have been plausible, seeing as how he was one of the scientists working at the Cosmodrome. He would have had the knowledge to work one of the rockets or even another Lunar Lander if there was one that was about.

"Or he is dead," Takeo stuck the barrel of his shotgun in another zombie's mouth, then turned it to face another zombie's head, firing and taking the both of them out, "Gersch was not the only one who was freed from that place." It was sobering thought, but none of them had felt what Takeo was talking about. The man had a certain sense of spirituality that none of the others had, but if what he said was true, then their work wasn't done. 'Come find me,' Takeo had heard, and when he told the others, it had changed from a job well-done, to a grim beginning of a longer feud.

"Ze girl iz very resourceful," Richtofen plugged in a few circuits and started punching in coordinates and numbers for an estimated trajectory, "She could have done zhis all on purpose…" Another chilling thought. Samantha had been toying with them since the start of their journey, although only Richtofen knew of her name and what she could possibly want. Driving the men to insanity, trapping Gersch in the Kassimir Mechanism, putting Gersch in the same place where she could have been dwelling since Rictofen had locked her and her father in the room those many years ago, and heckling him to make him call out to the four of them. She wouldn't have killed him if he was still of use to her, but once she was free…a troubling notion. The others just believed she was just some fucked up little girl who was haunting them through each and every zombie-fest they've been to. And they've had enough of her.

"I am running out of bullets!" Nikolai warned, indicating that they were in a very bad position at the moment. However, if they could just get the teleporter to work, they may be able to live yet another day. Or at least an hour. These things just didn't quit.

"Ja, got it!" Richtofen scrambled to stand up and pick up the twin pistols he had, getting inside the teleporter. The other three ran backwards quickly into the machine of their salvation, Richtofen hitting the switch and giving off another maniacal laugh...which was never good.

"Wait a minute, Richtofen, what did you-" Dempsey was cut off in the blinding array of electrical volts that surrounded them, teleporting them to another time and place.

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><p>chiv-id: So, that was the second prologue, and the first real chapter should be coming up in a day or two! I am just slow as hell doing this due to various other reasons...<p>

Anyway, **REVIEW**, let me know what you think! First zombie fic, so interested to know if it's good, bad, shit off it's rocker, whatever! But no hardcore flaming that makes kittens cry on the inside...LULZ!


	3. And We Are When Now?

chiv-id: I kid! I upload next chapter now! LULZ, but seriously, I do apologize for the shortness of my chapters. Normally, I do between 4000 to 10,000 words per chapter, but I'm sort of experimenting with new genres and writing styles, so it's going to take just a bit of time for me to get adjusted! Hope you enjoy this new chapter!

Oh, one more thing:

**Disclaimer: Call of Duty Black Ops is not my creation, nor are the characters or story, but this fanfiction is!**

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 1: And We Are…When Now?

_**Transpired Event #103. Contained Parameters: Siberia.**_

_**Targets have successfully reached theorized projection. Priority One.**_

_**Receiving Party: Gellar, Trejo, Englund, Rooker. Bomber [REDACTED] en route for pick up.**_

_**ETA: 3 hours. Estimated time for survival: 3.5 hours. Hostile numbers: heavy. 'Thaw Out' Initiative: Clearance-Green. Blast-radius: 15 km.**_

_**1800 hours, January 24, 2012**_

As the four of them teleported, each felt a sudden wave of nausea hit them like the broadside of a truck, landing on all fours when the world around them stopped spinning.

"Oh great…" Dempsey groaned as he half-crawled, half-tottered his way around the new room. He had his eyes closed when the sickness started setting in his gut, which made the dizziness worse, and put his forehead to the ground, trying to relieve some of the headache that developed. A small ways away, the Russian started howling and a large thud was heard.

"Aaahh, I'm blind! I'm blind, in my eyes!" Nikolai cried, having crawled straight into what felt like a metal table, grasping his face as he rolled onto his back in pain. Dempsey lifted his head and turned to look at the Soviet when he found that he couldn't see anything either.

"Holy shitballs! Me, too," he tried to crawl around to feel his surroundings and found what felt like bottom of a reinforced metal door, then attempted to find the doctor to strangle him, "What did you do, Richtofen?"

"I did nozhing! Vhere ze lightschwitz…?" Richtofen said in a whiny hurt voice, then seemed to fumble around himself. Dempsey gave a small sigh of relief that they weren't blind, but then, he felt something touch his…junk...

"Oooohh, I zhink I found lever…perhaps it will turn on ligh-"

"_D'oh-ah!_" Dempsey let out a pained noise, grabbing Richtofen's collar and held the doctor in a threatening position with a knife at his throat, growling with clenched teeth, "Let go! _That's-not-a-lever_! Richtofen!"

"_Nya-hah!_" Richtofen gave a slightly crazed and feeble laugh before a small clanking noise was heard from outside the room, their heads turning towards it in acknowledgement, "Shhh! Djou hear zhat?"

"Ooohh…sounded like somewhat outside!" a series of scuffling and gravel being tread over was heard, Nikolai finally making his way to the door with Richtofen and Dempsey, rapping on it with his knuckles, "Hey, you! Hey! I need vodka!" Dempsey suddenly felt something wet pool around the bottom of his pants and he lifted his feet before sniffing. God damn Russian must've spilt his vodka when we took the trip…

"Helloooo! Could you help us?" Richtofen got out of Dempsey's grip and knocked along with Nikolai, "Zhere must be a blown fuse or somezhing…it'z dark in here…" During Richtofen's last few words, some wet gasping retching sound were heard before Dempsey felt his boots and parts of his pants splashed with something even more foul than the vodka. Well…now they knew where Takeo was: on the opposite side of Dempsey, in a corner of the room.

"Aw man…that's wet," Dempsey muttered in disgust, shaking one pants leg free of the gunk that he threw up.

"Sure! Why _wouldn't_ we help some evil sounding stranger while we're busy fighting zombies?" a snarky, sarcastic feminine voice echoed beyond the door and a few shots were heard, all four of them, even Takeo with vomit dripping from his mouth, looked at the door in surprise. That was unexpected. What was a woman doing in the middle of a zombie apocalypse?

"Chica, now's not the time, we need all the help we can get!" a gravelly Mexican accent came next, a wet fleshy sound coupled with a heavy thud following shortly after, "Hey, we're not making any promises, but we'll see what we can do!"

"Ugh, we don't know who they are? Hell, they could be like Romero!" the female responded with attitude, "Englund, Rooker, any time!"

"I'm busy with my own problems, sweetheart!" a raspy American voice popped in, two shotguns now ringing out.

"Eight is better than four!" a wheezy old man spoke, followed by a yell as he presumably attacked a zombie, "And Romero's coming up the steps!"

"Aaahhh fine! You guys said something about a broken fuse, right? There's something sparking on this side of the door…I think I found your light switch!" an ominous moaning came from not too far away and the woman cursed, "Crap, we have to move! Everyone, go upstairs! I think the props manager might've left a fuse in one of the prep rooms for the-_**TREJO, LOOK OUT**_!" A panicked scream and a large amount of gunfire erupted, causing all four to back away from the deafening noise of what was happening beyond the door. Within a few minutes, the area beyond the door had quieted and Dempsey looked in the direction of his temporary comrades.

"Great. Who wants to bet we're alone now?" Dempsey muttered wryly, trying to get up. His hands felt the cold steel of the door as he stood up straight, trying to feel around the room for what was in it. There didn't seem to be any zombies, considering nothing had tried attacking them yet, but they were veritably trapped. No windows, only one door which was locked from the outside, and Takeo's puke stinking up the place. What a wonderland…

"I just want my vodka," Nikolai groaned, also trying to get up and away from where Takeo was throwing his guts up.

"I can't vork wizhout ze power on," Richtofen began to make his way back to the MTD, hoping that if the other four people outside were still alive, he'd be able to fix it.

"Well, just try, doc," Dempsey found a table and felt around, finding what seemed to be a pen, some paper, a few boxes that had been frozen closed, and what felt like a phone. He picked up the receiver and pushed his finger on the switch hook, trying to see if it was working, but there was no dial tone. Putting it back down with some mild frustration, Dempsey searched around the room a couple more times before he stormed over to the mad doctor and kicked the machine.

"Stupid piece of junk!" Dempsey angrily yelled, the doctor shoving the upset American away.

"Do not blame zeh machine!" Richtofen dangerously uttered, the clicking sounds of his twin pistols showing that he was not pleased with people kicking important pieces of technology. More importantly, it was their means of escape and the only way to get to where Richtofen wanted.

"Not good time for fight!" Nikolai grabbed Dempsey in a Full-Nelson, restraining him for a short while before speaking again, "I hear people outside now!" Richtofen and Dempsey calmed down, Nikolai releasing him so the three of them could go back to the door in a slow awkward walk, still unable to see. Takeo was presumably still sitting on the floor, sick. A light knocking sound was heard, along with delicate panting.

"Hey, I-I got it!" a few clicks and sparks sounded, then the lights went on, everyone except Takeo, who was still nauseated, sighed a breath of relief.

"Ah, much better! Now I can see ze problem!" Richtofen avoided the now creeping pool of barf as he examined the MTD, "We must have gone too far into ze future! Look, the teleporter's _completely_ broken! The time circuits are damaged! We'll have to rework ze-"

"Wait! You took us here on purpose?" Dempsey raised his machine gun to point at the crazy doctor who didn't seem fazed in the least, "_Where are we?_" This bastard was up to something, he could feel it. And the doctor wasn't exactly looking like he had a halo on his head when he smiled calmly whilst having the muzzle to his chest.

"A better question, Dempsey, is-"

"Hey! I did what you asked!" the woman interjected and they stopped talking again, even Dempsey lower his gun somewhat, "Now I wanna know who you guys are and how many of you are in there!"

"…There's four of us!," Dempsey yelled back, turning towards the door, "And we all have weapons. All you need to know!"

"If we find a way to get you out of there, can you help us fight these zombies?" the unknown female started yelling when she fired off a couple of rounds.

"_Nein_, ve are on our own mission, _Fräulein_!" Richtofen called out, and was about to turn to go back to the MDT when he saw Nikolai hovering over the control panel of the machine.

"Oooh, look at blinky light!" Nikolai chuckled drunkenly before raising his hand over the various buttons on the machine, "Ehehe! What's this button do-?"

"Nikolai! _NOOOOO!_" Richtofen tried to stop him, but the Russian had already pushed the button. A static whirring noise came from the machine and various lasers shot from the top of it to make a secure grid-pattern, causing Dempsey and Richtofen to duck and avoid them. When it seemed like no one was killed, Richtofen straightened his coat and hat. Dempsey couldn't move because of the lasers, but he was ready to strangle the Soviet when he figured out how to get around the death beams.

"Ohh great, Nikolai. You've just activated the MTD security system-"

"_Good_!" Belinksi retorted, trying to save face.

"'Scuse me! You outside! _Ja!_ The hunted one. We need you to locate the power sources of the security system! They look like little half-domes with a hole on top? Kind of like a big-" Dempsey stared at him, daring Richtofen to say it in this situation. If the woman got offended in anyway, they were as good as gone, seeing as how the other three seemed to be following her lead.

"Forget it. If you destroy zhose, it should shut down ze security system," Richtofen finished, listening to see if the female was still there.

"…All right, but you better help us after this, deal?" the woman asked, showing that she was not pleased with Nikolai's screw up.

"We can't make any promises, lady," Dempsey knocked on the door once, "This door's locked. And if you can't open it from your side, then we can't help you." For a small while, it was quiet, then there was some whisperings that showed she wasn't alone.

"There's…there might be a way," the mystery girl called out to them, "Just stay in there! We'll turn off the security system and find a way to get you out of there!" With that, the four men listened as their footsteps trailed off before speaking again.

"So…where _did_ you send us, _Richtofen_?" Dempsey couldn't lift his gun nor get close enough with a knife to threaten the doctor, so he had to be content glaring from across the room while trying not to get fried.

"Az I said before, Dempshey, ze question is _when_, not where," Richtofen replied, looking at the lasers intuitively, trying to figure out how to get around them to get back to the machine.

"And we are…_when_ now?" Dempsey asked, getting irritated as Richtofen danced around his question with technicalities.

"According to some of zhese documents…" Richtofen picked up some papers behind him and looked at them, "Ve are in ze year…_2012_?" Dempsey narrowed his eyes and Nikolai sobered somewhat.

"You sent us…seventy years into the future?" Dempsey angrily talked, holding up an accusing finger and acting aggressive, "We were supposed to be going home! We were supposed to kill the zombies, stop it from spreading, and go home! That's what you said we were gonna do, you son of a bitch!"

"It vas an _accident_," Richtofen emphasized, growing impatient with Dempsey's temper, "I meant to teleport us to _Paradise_."

"…And what in God's name is _Paradise_?" Dempsey asked, growing more and more suspicious.

"Zhat vas for me to know, und you to find out," Richtofen grinned and then laughed, "_Haahaaha!_" Then, the phone near Richtofen started ringing, bringing his and everyone else's attention to it. It rang for a small short while before Richtofen picked it up.

"…Hellooooo?" he spoke, guessing that the phone turned on when the power did.

"_…Dr. Richtofen?_" another woman asked in a clipped serious tone.

"_Ja_, zhis is Richtofen…who iz zhis?" he looked over to Dempsey and the others who were staring back, confused as to what was happening.

"_My name is Vivian. And if you want to be living in the next 2 hours, I suggest you and your group do exactly as I say_."

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><p>chiv-id: OK, so! Finished another chapter, yay! All right, as you can tell, I've already added parts of Ascension and Call of the Dead so far! I've also mentioned the other zombie maps that they've played, although as locations (in the last chapter), and even included the new Zombie cast! Dunno if I'm going to include "Five" and the Presidents, but bear with me as I try to maneuver my way through this fic! <strong>REVIEW!<strong>


	4. Because You Have No Choice

chiv-id: OMG, another chappie! FFFF I've been looking around, and I must say 'wow' to how many yaoi fics of the Zombie gang there are. Please be advised, when I said there was going to be a bit of romance, note that it is not yaoi (boyxboy or gay love for those of you who ain't familiar with Japanese terminology). All righty, enjoy the next short chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Call of Duty series games, Treyarch does. And I certainly don't own any of the characters...'cept for Vivian.

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 2: Because You Have No Choice

_**Recorded Anomaly 4-A. Overseer: [REDACTED]**_

_**Unanticipated maneuver from remaining Siberian military causes small set back.**_

_**Priority One: Dempsey, Richtofen, Belinksi, Masaki [Priority Two: Gellar, Trejo, Rooker, Englund]**_

_**Patching through authorized assistance over secure channel…**_

_**1900 hours, January 24**__**th**__**, 2012**_

"_My name is Vivian. And if you want to be living in the next 2 hours, I suggest you and your group do exactly as I say._"

"…Is zhis zhat cheeky girl from outside?" Richtofen asked, scratching the side of his cheek in an amused manner, not taking her seriously, "You should not be making such idle threatz to ze people you who vere going to save you. Und how did djou know _mein_ name?"

"_This is not an idle threat. And you said a girl? Reconfirming…_" there was a small silence and Richtofen waved at the others, signaling that he didn't think it was anything, "_Four more breathers. Damn. And actors, too. Tough sons of bitches. Their names are Danny Trejo, Robert Englund, Michael Rooker, and that 'cheeky girl' you were talking about earlier? She's Sarah Michelle Gellar. All experienced actors in the horror genre of our century._"

"Actorz? I do not know who zese 'actorz' are, but you are not fooling anyvun, girl," the German stated, starting to get serious, "And I don't care vhat your names are. You vant our help, shut down ze security system!" He was about to hang up, but the security system was suddenly switched off. Richtofen stared at the phone, then the room and the others, who were seemingly mystified by how he did that.

"Better," Richtofen's leather gloves made a small squeaking as he put the receiver back to his ear and mouth, "Now, I know ve said ve'd help you, but-"

"_Doctor Edward Richtofen_," the voice silenced him as not even the other members of his squad knew his first name, "_There is a __**SIBERIAN BOMBER**__ approaching your location. Fast. And there is going to be a rain of hellfire on all of your asses if you don't get off of that ship!_" The good doctor froze and then drew the receiver from his face, pale. Dempsey was already coming over, with Nikolai just a short ways away, crowding. Takeo had somehow managed to recover somewhat after barfing for so long and staggered to a standing position, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Ve may have a problem…" Richtofen looked up as if he could sense the bomber coming.

"What is it?" Dempsey asked, holding his gun tightly. The doctor rarely looked this scared, even in the face of a horde of zombies with limited ammo. What the hell was worse than a horde of zombies while fighting with almost no ammo?

"Zere may be a Siberian bomber coming here to 'clean house', az you might say, Dempshey," Richtofen reported, everyone's eyes going wide and looking up similarly. This was not good. And being locked in a room with a bomber hovering overhead was definitely worse than zombies and no ammo.

"_That's why I'm here, doctor_," there were several clicking noises coming from the receiver, Richtofen bringing it back to his ear, "_My job is to save you and any other survivors that may be in the near vicinity. You may want to put this on speaker phone for everyone to hear_."

"Und how do I do zhat?" he asked, Vivian directing him to press the small grey button with the sound symbol on it. Future phones were certainly more equipped, but a bit more complex than the 1960-versions. Once done, he put the receiver back on the switchhook and stood back for everyone to hear.

"_Hello Mr. Dempsey, Mr. Belinksi, Masaki-san. My name is Vivian. Now I need for all of you to listen very carefully,_" Vivian started, the others coming a bit closer, "_The bomber that is going to blow you all to kingdom-come is a hijacked Russian Tu-160 Tupolev, or as NATO lovingly calls it, the Tu-95 BLACKJACK. It is a high-altitude strategic bomber, meaning you cannot see it. Therefore, you cannot just 'shoot it down and hope the debris doesn't fall on your head', even if you managed to get out of that room in time to see it. That bomber will be reaching you in approximately 35 minutes._"

"See! Russians make good vodka _and_ good planes, eheheh!" Nikolai boasted, although now really wasn't the time or place, considering they were going to be killed shortly by said-Russian plane.

"_The fastest thing that can get you out of the fire zone is what we are sending you right now: a Russian-based Tu-144 Tupolev. Its NATO-name is the CHARGER._" Just as Nikolai was going to give another smart-aleck remark about Russian planes and vodka, Vivian spoke up.

"_The Charger was an experimental Russian passenger jet that was co-signed with NASA back in the 1999 after being retired in the 70s. This thing goes up to 1,553 mph, which is faster than the Blackjack. It will get to you in about 25 minutes. This gives you a 10-minute window to get out of there and get on that plane. The Charger __**will**__ leave you if you fail to get there in that 10-minute window._"

"Great," Dempsey threw a hand up and turned away from the phone, pacing, "Half an hour…"

"_I cannot reach our civilian friends over there, so you must inform them yourselves about the plan,_" Vivian then seemingly put her hand over the mike and was talking to someone else before lifting it, "_Oh, and in lighter news, the room you're in? Schematics say it's a panic room. That's why there's no door handle. Everything is handled by the control panel on the far end of the room opposite of the door. Do you see it?_" Everyone automatically looked at where Vivian had been describing, but there was nothing but rubble and the MDT.

"Yes…no…" Nikolai replied after a small internal debate on what the real answer was, turning back to the phone, "Is there other control panel?"

"_Unfortunately, no. That was the easiest and fastest way of getting you four out of there…hold on_," more whispering and discussion before Vivian came back, "_All right, looks like we'll have to do this the hard way. My people tell me there are some home-made mortar rounds in the lighthouse. If Gellar and the others can reach the lighthouse at the top, they can arm them, causing a well-timed explosion that could blow that door off its hinges_."

"All right, we have plan," Nikolai grinned, patting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

"Wait," Takeo leaned closer to the phone, placing his hands on the table, "Why should we trust you? We do not know who you _really_ are." He was serious, although the way his chest took deep, shuddering breaths was far from intimidating.

"…_Because you have no choice, Masaki-san_," the mysterious woman hung up, the dial tone loud and almost deafening in all the silence of that room. They looked at each other for a moment before jumping when a loud knocking sound came, accompanied by gunfire and shouts of rage that filled the void created by Vivian.

"Hey, I blew up all the little…half…dome…thingies!" the woman's voice came through the door again, presumably this Gellar person Vivian had been talking about.

"Yep, it did the trick!" Dempsey strode over to the door so that his words would reach her better, "Hey, we have a jet coming to pick us up!"

"…W-wait, are you serious?" Gellar asked, mostly in disbelief from the sound of her voice. Richtofen started to go over to the door, knowing that they were in a rather bad position to be revealing all their information, but Dempsey…as usual…

"Yeah, but there's a Siberian bomber coming to shitstorm on this entire area, too! If we don't get on that jet, we're all going to bite the dust! There's not a lot of time left, so we need you to help us get out of this room! There's some mortar rounds you can use at the top of the light house!" Dempsey yelled, but a small silence on the other side of the door got him uneasy, "Hey! Hey, you still there?"

"_Ja_, nice job, _dummkopf_," the doctor praised sarcastically, clapping his hands a few times slowly, "If ve manage to live ze bombing, I vill make sure you know vhat pain really iz."

"So…I am not getting my vodka?" Nikolai asked, and Richtofen sighed and dropped his face into his palm, shaking his head, "Now would be _really _good time."

_Geniuses. All of them._

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><p>chiv-id: Derp, sorry for shortness, again! It's easier to update when you're not doing long-ass chapters, heh. And when they're not incredibly detailed visually. The reason for that? Because no one knows what the inside of that damn room in the game. Would've been REAL bad-ass if you could have those characters fight alongside you if they let you free 'em, but no. Sad panda. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Hopefully, I'll start generating longer chapters, but the way this is going, it might be shortie chaps all the way through! <strong>REVIEW PEOPLE, REVIEW!<strong>


	5. Not Enough Blood!

chiv-id: On a roll! Yeaaahhhh...no. LOL, anyway, I know it's sort of slow going right now, but just bear with it! And I had a comment on my story saying my character somewhat stinks of being a MARY-SUE! Well, firstly...I don't like Mary Sues. Absolutely hate 'em. So I completely agree that Mary-Sues are a big no-no in stories. 'Cept in maybe Disney movies, they're the only ones that are allowed. LULZ! Secondly, I have a general concept of what a Mary Sue is, so I try to stay away from that when I'm writing. However! If you guys get the feeling or know that she's a Mary Sue, please, SPEAK UP. I can't look at my own characters and clearly say whether they're Mary-Sue-ish or not because...pffffttt, they're my own characters.

Please, please, PLEASE! Tell me if it looks like I have a Mary Sue character! I definitely don't want one of those! Whelps, with that said, enjoy the next chapter of The Information Age!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Call of Duty series games, Treyarch does. And I certainly don't own any of the characters...'cept for Vivian.

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 3: Not Enough Blood!

**_Rescue Operation #56. MAZ Chief Director Vivian Sakamoto [Codename: RINGLEADER] overseeing._**

**_Blackjack ETA: 20 minutes. Charger ETA: 10 minutes. Window: 10 minutes._**

**_Established Targets: Dempsey, Richtofen, Belinksi, Takeo, Gellar, Trejo, Rooker, and Englund._**

**_Location: Temporary Base of Operations, Hickam Air Force Base._**

**_1900 hours, January 24th, 2012_**

"Ringleader, thermal scans indicate that Team Gellar is on the move," one technician spoke into his headset, his fingers inputting various commands and inquiries into the computer, "However, it is unclear whether they are going to get the mortar rounds, ma'am."

"Based on the actors' psych-evaluations, ma'am, there is still a 52% calculated chance that they will help them," a woman of equal age retorted, her eyes watching as files on the actors were pulled up on her screen. Others started to discuss the likelihood that Team Gellar would just ditch the four time-stranded men when a loud ringing tone sounded, silencing them. Vivian withdrew her finger from the red intercom button before looking around the room. It was a large room with a gigantic amount of screens covering the far side of the wall, with at least 5 computers on each of the 10 rows of tables that led to her own glass cubicle. It was scaled so that the steps were inclined vertically, with her at the top. And though the room was dark, the light of the many computers they were using and the screens from the far wall provided enough light.

"Do _not_ give me theories, people," Vivian held the headset's talk button with her pointer finger, standing up slightly with one hand in front of her on a table, eyes narrowed, "Tell the flight captain to put the pedal to the metal. And patch me through to the imbeciles in the ship's panic room." The technicians nodded and went back to work, Vivian releasing the talk button and settling back into her black leather swivel chair with some resignation, slumping while her hand massaging area just under her eyebrows, jostling her glasses a bit. Her eyes were being strained from having to look at her computers nearly all day, three of them arranged around her on a white desk with a pull-out keyboard.

"And there goes another perfectly good plan, right out the window," Vivian sat up somewhat after sighing, a small display on her middle screen showing that the phone lines to the ship were being tapped again, "Do I have a green connection?"

"Yes, Ringleader," the man from before responded, hitting the enter key once before Vivian was put through again. It rang a few times and her leg shook, waiting for them to pick up, seeing as how they had so little time to work out a new plan. Using their satellites and pieces of the good doctor's diary entries, they were able to predict where this rather elusive group was going to be. She could not afford any mistakes, or the chances that mankind was going to walk out of this zombie apocalypse alive were next to nil. And she was already pessimistic about their chances.

"_Yeah, Dempsey here_," the American's voice sounded in her ear piece, "_We've got a problem_…"

"I can see that," Vivian replied in a somewhat irked, but calm voice, "What happened?" She watched her screens carefully as she saw their thermal images pace about in the room. The left monitor showed Gellar and her fellow actors more or less wandering, although they were haphazardly making their way closer and closer to the lighthouse. Perhaps her plan wasn't going to waste after all…

"_Za usual: Dempshey being ugly_ and_ stupid_," Richtofen explained, then a slap was heard and a bit of wrangling of the phone seemed to be in order, Vivian's right eye twitching as she heard the squeaky noises of Richtofen's gloves and the rustle of clothes.

"_Shut it, you Nazi bastard_," Dempsey growled in a low voice, then presumably smacked the doctor again, "_Anyway, Gellar might've left us to the wolves…so to speak._"

"…You told her the whole plan, didn't you?" Vivian put her finger tips together, a small vein throbbing in her forehead.

"_You said we had to tell her the plan ourselves!_" Dempsey threw back, Vivian closing her eyes in irritation. She did say that, but she had hoped he would have realized their situation…too much to ask for, probably.

"_Is there anything else we can do, Vivian?_" Takeo's voice came over and she opened her eyes again. Vivian pulled her mike down so that she could take a deep breath to calm herself without the others hearing before bringing it back to her mouth. Her eyes scanned the monitors, the rightmost one showing various ways to make a home-made charge, although the panic room was already scarce material-wise. Vivian thought carefully, glancing back to the Gellar group who had finally reached the lighthouse, but it was still unclear if they were going to get the charges. Plans never worked on half-baked assumptions. Going over the schematics of the panic room, eyes darting towards the display that showed the different ETAs of the planes, and considering their weaponry, she leaned back in her chair.

"...Yeah, but you're not gonna like it," she muttered, sitting up again after a brief resting period and using the mouse to bring up the instruction manual for standard panic room functions, "In the event that a power failure coupled with a malfunction with the life-support systems occurs, the door will perform an override and it should open."

"_…I don't get it_," Nikolai voiced, then was seemingly pushed away.

"_Same! We don't have a God-damn control panel to do any of that!_" Dempsey retorted a bit angrily and frustrated, causing Vivian to put her fingers to her temples, trying to tone down the fury that biting to get out.

"I know," Vivian said slowly, reigning it all back in, "I wasn't finished. I can remotely trigger a power surge, which is the relatively hard part. All you have to do…is start a fire."

"_…You want us…to start a fire?_" Takeo repeated in a confused voice.

"Yes, I want you to start a fire," Vivian reiterated, her mouth a deep-set line, "When I cut the power, the emergency sprinkler system will no longer be operational. The smoke will travel up into the ventilation system, cause the system to relay a message to the motherboard lock on the door about a life-support malfunction, and unlock the door."

"_Vhat about ze life-support system?_" Richtofen asked, his voice closer than Takeo's, "_Iz zhat not also connected to ze power? Suffocating to deazh iz not ze vay I vant to go…not enough BLOOD!_" Vivian jumped at his yell, glaring at the screen with the four thermal images on it when she calmed down. After, the doctor laughed a bit in his maniacal way when she heard another smack and the wrestling of the phone seemed to be in order.

"_Stop hogging the phone, Richtofen!_" Dempsey, yet again, had rescued the receiver from the insane giggling man and put it back on the switchhook, making it go back to speaker-phone mode, "_So…what if we do it and the system doesn't do its thing 'cuz it was connected to the power?_"

"The life-support systems are powered by the same grid as the lights," Vivian explained, flashes of the schematics and electrical wiring seen in the glare of her glasses, "However, emergency reserves are used to power the life-support when the rest of the power has failed. Now when I make the power surge go off, I can't contact you anymore. That means the rest is up to you."

"_…Understood_," Dempsey responded, "_So how are you going to make the power go out?_"

"I have a team of hackers here who can get us into the ship's systems. Once there, we'll reroute most of the power to go to the panic room in one sharp jolt," Vivian informed, then checked the clock and realized she had been rambling for a good 5 minutes, meaning that the plane was going to arrive any minute now, "Good luck, you four. And some advice? Vodka is very flammable, especially Soviet _samogonka_. Vivian out." With that, she nodded to the first table to her right, telling the five men who saw her head move to initiate the power surge. They typed in one command and hit the 'ENTER' key, the thermal scans of the time-travelling group becoming much clearer, although they apparently ducked when the single light bulb exploded. Vivian pressed the talk button on her headset.

"Yeah, too much power, guys," she reprimanded slightly, the group turning to look at her in a bit of terror, "Don't worry, I'm human. I'm not here to bite your heads off, just to make sure you do your jobs. And don't forget about the Marshalls! Keep a close eye on the father, he's showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder!" The men nodded and turned back, working on another new rescue operation while Vivian took her headset off and leaned back into her chair again, slouching somewhat as she drew her hand over her face.

"…I need sleep…and coffee…" she murmured before getting up and tying her long black hair up in a bun with a chopstick, one hand coming up across her front to massage a shoulder. To be truthful, she had only a couple of hours of sleep when a young intern woke her up to inform her about the MDT crew that had been spotted in the snowy lands of oh-so-lovely Siberia. Having to report to the President, argue and yell for his approval, organize the pilot and crew as well as outfitting the large and rather high-tech plane with resources they practically didn't have, Vivian was dead-tired. She opened the backdoor of her glass cubicle to exit into a private room arranged just for her, one of several high-maintenance demands she made when they insisted on bringing her here. It was a dual-room suite, the first room being the bedroom and bathroom combo, the other room being a kitchen and lounge area. Vivian slipped off the white jacket that hid her bra-less tank top, then slipped off the blue jeans so that she could take a small nap when…

"_Ringleader, this is Corporal Tannings!_" the intercom rang out in her bedroom, just as she fell forward on her face into the mattress, "_We're waiting on pick-up, but they're five minutes late! We can't hold out much longer!_" She groaned and got up, this time putting shorts on and just loosely zipping up the jacket, running back down the hallway to the glass cubicle, literally punching the intercom button with her thumb.

"**Someone! Get me Captain Jennings on the channel, now! I wanna know what's taking him so fucking long!**" she growled into it, people jumping when they heard her voice, then scrambling to clear one of the many busy channels just for her.

"A woman's work is never done…" she uttered with a tone that was dripping with loathing and irritation, sitting down and slipping on the headset.

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><p>chiv-id: Gaaaahhh, what's with these short chapters? Meh, I'm sure these will get longer as this progressively goes on. Anywho, for those of you who don't know what 'samogonka' is, it's the Russian home-made version of 'moon shine'. Yeah, I'm guessing Nikolai has HAD to have one of those stashed in his liquor bag of misfortunes. XD<p>

Anyway, addressing the review from before, yes, I will be careful when writing the romance into this. I will try to keep it as canon-based as possible, but here and there, OOCness might stray in. Please tell me if the characters are acting way too bizarre for their own good, and I will take drastic steps to address this problem! *takes out Bowie knife* _Drastic...measures..._

LOL, just jokes! **AND REVIEW PEOPLES, OR I WILL USE THIS BOWIE KNIFE FOR REALZZZZ!**


	6. To Vodka

chiv-id: Wheeeee! Another chapter done! And it's much longer than the usual ones! Actually, the usual ones are the long ones. The unusual ones are the short ones. LULZ! Anywho, I'm super psyched for this chapter, mainly because it touches up on some more serious issues that aren't at all discussed in the game and introduces a bit of mystery as well. Hope you enjoy this new chapter peoplez!

Disclaimer: The Call of Duty series doesn't belong to me, nor their characters. They're all Treyarch's. Only the characters you've never heard of are mine! (LOL, dunno what else to classify them as)

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 4: To Vodka

_**Transpired Event #103. Contained Parameters: Siberia.**_

_**Targets acquired: [N/A.] Targets left: 8/8.**_

_**[SAVING GRACE] Designate: Captain Newmann and crew presiding.**_

_**Saving Grace awaiting for targets. Time remaining: 9 minutes. LZ: Ship port-side.**_

_**1900 hours, January 24**__**th**__**, 2012**_

"All right, you can throw one of those…like _now_!" Sarah Michelle Gellar yelled, Trejo dodging some ricocheting bullets, two or three mortar rounds swinging precariously on his bandolier.

"Hey, it's not that simple!" he yelled, "I worked with _professional_ and _prop _mortar rounds, not these pieces of crap!" The home-made mortar rounds they had found at the top of the lighthouse were fuse-less and no discernable buttons that they could push, so Trejo was getting just as frustrated at them as Gellar was at him. He examined them as carefully as he could in their situation, Rooker and Englund helping Gellar defend their position around the door.

"Hey, maybe we just shoot it?" Rooker offered, then grunted as he was knocked into the stairs by a rather formidably large zombie, "And can I get some help over here?" Gellar redirected her fire at the zombie who was snapping at Rooker's neck.

"It's not that easy! You know how big and explosion a mortar round can set off? And who knows what the hell these _hombres_ were messing with!" Trejo held up the afore-mentioned piece of equipment, still trying to see if there was another way they could use it, "I like blowing shit up, but I'd rather do it without me in the middle of it!" Unfortunately, when he shook it, something clicked and Trejo looked back at it, startled. Then, a small ticking noise began working and he almost dropped it, a small display that looked much like the digital read-out for a watch now reading [1:00]. Well…he hadn't seen _that_ before…

"Guys, it's-it's going off!" he shouted, Gellar and the others looking at him in surprise. They began to fight even more furiously, with Trejo dropping the mortar near the door and helping his fellow actors fight their way out of the crowded area. However, just as they were reaching a safe distance, they heard a loud creaking sound and most of the zombies divert away from their range.

"What the hell…?" Trejo began following the zombies that had left the main group and saw that the four men they were trying to save already tumbling out of the once-locked room in a cloud of smoke. Trejo easily managed to draw off a few zombies before yelling at the four of them, then waving to his teammates who had finished off their group of zombies for help.

"That was good Soviet vodka…you capitalist pigs!" Nikolai snarled in a coughing fit, weakly going over to Dempsey who had lit the match and threw a stumbling fist. Instead of hitting Dempsey in the mouth, who was on all fours and catching his breath, Nikolai missed just above the American's head and instead landed on his back, making Dempsey collapse and give a wheeze of surprise.

"It was already on the ground..." Dempsey gasped, then coughed rather terribly, "And get your drunk Russian ass off me already!" He gave the Soviet a good jab in the ribs with his elbow and got up somewhat, Nikolai giving a high-pitched wheeze before rolling off. The smoke had given them a good amount of cover, the zombies swaying from side to side as they searched for them. They had a vague inkling that there was fresh meat, but could not see it nor smell it in that dense vodka-smoke.

"Ve do not have much time!" Richtofen was smart and breathing through a small cloth that he kept with him, avoiding the symptoms that the others were experiencing, "My children are getting closer…and so are za voices!" Dempsey ignored the Nazi's insane ramblings and tried to crawl his way under the smoke and out of the way of the zombies. However, a retching sound reached his ears and he groaned.

"Takeo, pull it together! You don't wanna die puking on a zombie, do ya?" he yelled at the Japanese man, whose condition had returned when the smoke filled his lungs, causing him to hack and cough and stimulate his gag-reflex. He stifled another loud groan as a zombie wandered near him and swiped dangerously close to his head, crawling towards Takeo and grabbing him by the arm, under the armpit.

"Come on, we're not letting these freak bags get us now!" Dempsey started pulling Takeo hurriedly, glancing over to Richtofen who was helping Nikolai in a similar fashion, "Keep it together, man, we're almost-gah, what the hell?" He turned to look at his right leg and saw a leg-less zombie grabbing his leg, its icy-cold fingers almost ripping the green military-grade fabric in its grip. His eyes were wide as he fumbled with his gun, trying to line it up with the zombie's head before it bit him, seeing it open its mouth wide. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes just as he felt the yellowed-teeth of the zombie clamp down slightly, but opened them again when he noticed that the piercing bite never came. Instead, the zombie's head was completely gone, small rivulets of blood that had been trapped in its unmoving veins running down to drench Dempsey's pant leg. Shaking it off then snapping a large boot heel into its torso to send it flying, he looked to see a battle-worn Mexican grinning at him.

"Hey, you got out!" he held his hand out and Dempsey took it, respecting the older man, "Wait…oh crap…" Trejo looked at the mortar round on the ground that read [0:15] and pulled sharply on Dempsey's hand to get the man on his feet somewhat.

"We have to get out, now!" he yelled, pulling Takeo's right arm over his shoulders before whistling. A large barrage of gunfire mowed down most of the zombies in front of them, Trejo leading the way with Dempsey, Richtofen, and Nikolai following closely behind. A few short ticking seconds later, they were almost to the portside when a large explosion blew out all the glass and several large chunks of debris out of the quarters area where they had just been.

"_Nooooooo!_" Richtofen screamed, looking back at the demolished cabins, "Ze MDT!" Suddenly, the time-traveling quartet felt their hearts drop into the pit of their stomachs. How the hell were they supposed to go home, or even 'Paradise' like the doctor mentioned?

"No time for squealing, girls," Rooker shoved Richtofen and got everyone moving again, "Is that the plane y'all were talking about?" The Tupolev Charger was sitting there in all its pristine glory, although there was icing that was beginning to build up over the windows.

"Only one way to find out!" Dempsey yelled and they quickly marched their way over to it, a man dressed in white camouflage gear meeting them with a machine gun in his hands. He fired off a few shots at some of the trailing zombies that were getting too close for comfort before stopping before the tattered group of survivors. He touched the communications device attached to his helmet as he held out his hands stopping them, seemingly getting in touch with someone before addressing them.

"State your name!" the man yelled over the cold snow that began to flurry around them.

"Dempsey!" the American time-traveler replied, "Now let us in, we're freezing out asses out here!" Satisfied with the answer, the soldier pulled down the hatch and everyone ran inside, the four actors shivering while the other group of four merely shook some of the snow off, brushing whatever else that stuck. The camouflaged man closed the hatch behind him and ran to the cockpit of the plane.

"All eight packages accounted for, sir!" the man reported, a white middle-aged pilot tilting his cap and starting the engine, pressing the intercom button after.

"_Good evening, this is your captain speaking_," the polite voice rang out over the plane, causing its passengers to stop ridding themselves of snow at first, "_We will be taking off in a few seconds, so please fasten your seat belts and keep your trays in their upright positions at all times. Thank you, and welcome aboard the Saving Grace._" While Gellar and her actors strapped themselves in, Dempsey and his crew looked at the disembodied voice in skepticism.

"You're shitting me…right?" Dempsey asked, then the plane shook and took off, throwing the four who hadn't sat down all the way to the back of the plane, the actors smirking at them in amusement. Once the plane leveled somewhat, the armed flight attendants helped the ragtag mess of men to their seats as the captain spoke out over the intercom again.

"_Sorry for the abrupt take-off folks,_" the man apologized in a calm and soothing tone, "_Captain Newmann speaking. The destination of this flight is Hawaii. We will be arriving there in…roughly about 12 hours, with mild turbulence coming in from the eastern side, so be sure to fasten your seat belts when the seat belt light is flashing. If you have any concerns or questions, please feel free to ask one of our escorts or use the satellite video-phones located around the immediate cabin to contact one of our representatives. For your comfort and relaxation, there are suites set up in the back area of the plane that your escorts may guide you to. And last, but not least, in-flight food will be served shortly, so be sure to come to the buffet area located in near the front of the plane. Thank you, and enjoy your safe flight._" Dempsey and the others stared up at the ceiling where the voices came from, then at the lightly-armed men and women who approached them.

"I'm sorry, folks, but we'll have to relieve you of your weapons on this flight, for safety reasons," the white-camouflaged man from before requested, holding out his hand.

"Yeah, and what about you?" Dempsey asked, although the actors were already placing their pitchfork, machetes, guns, and grenades in the other officers' hands.

"We are required to keep one small firearm at all times should one of you display any tendencies of aggression or infection," he replied in military protocol, "They are not loaded with live ammunition, but are armed with rubber bullet rounds to insure that should we be forced to fire, it will not puncture the interior of the plane and place the rest of the passengers in any danger."

"And I have a tranquilizer gun in case one of you get too frisky after getting hit by the rubbers," an African-American man spoke up in a light joking manner, although he was dressed differently, wearing a crisp black-tie suit, "Hi, I'm Sky Marshal Williams, but you can call me Ray. I've been assigned as your handler on the flight back." While the situation was seemingly turning calm, a small scuffle was heard and Dempsey and Ray looked at Takeo, who was now agitated and standing as though to attack with his normally sheathed blade.

"A man's honor is his sword!" the Japanese soldier barked and almost drew the unusable thing against the military personnel when Ray held up a hand and they backed down, Takeo easing up somewhat and getting back into his seat.

"We're not taking everything away from you," Ray reassured the four jumpy guests, who were now gripping their weapons tightly, "We just need to prevent any…'mishaps' that may occur with loaded guns." Dempsey eyed the man, then slowly and reluctantly gave up his gun, the others following suit, though Takeo was allowed to keep his sword, and Nikolai his vodka bag. Even the Nazi scientist was allowed to keep certain 'tools' that he had apparent sentimental attachments to, although Dempsey was extremely doubtful of this. The looks on the others' faces also matched his feelings, staring at the doctor's rather morbid observation of a scalpel, twisting the blade in an almost gut-wrenching way, watching the light reflect off its shiny immaculate surface.

"So…what the hell is a 'sky marshal'?" Dempsey asked in an off-the-record tone, feeling somewhat…off…in this somewhat 'secure' environment. It had been a long time since he felt 'safe' anywhere. He had gotten used to the danger, to the blood, the gore, the imminent bite of death on his jugular.

"Sky marshals are armed officials that prevent the high-jacking of planes such as these," Ray settled himself in a seat across from the eight of them. They all were sitting on a U-shape formation of seats, with his seat being by itself in front of them. A table was set between them and him, though, and filled the gap rather well with its mahogany mass, emblazoned with the United States eagle with the olive branch in one claw and thirteen arrows in the other.

"Huh…when did that happen?" Dempsey muttered, scratching the back of his head, "And what's with that pilot? He's acting like he didn't see any zombies, even though there were a shitload of 'em crawling up our asses."

"It's a psychological thing," Ray shrugged, his easy-going attitude making Dempsey relax somewhat, "Just like me, he's here to keep everyone calm and relaxed. We were picked to make sure no one goes into an 'aggressive shock'. We saw this all the time in soldiers who fought our wars. Now…it seems everyone's getting it." The sky marshal's smile declined into a small sad line, looking out the window at the frozen landscape.

"Zombies tend to make people go into an aggressive fighting mode, where adrenaline is pumping nearly 24/7 all the time. Gotta keep on your toes or you're gonna lose 'em, you know. When…we bring back people who have been left alone for a long time, defending themselves against the flesh-eaters, they sometimes can't distinguish between the living and the dead."

"_Da_, but what does that have to do with you, charcoal man?" asked Nikolai, chuckling at Ray's apparent dark skin tone. The black man chuckled with him and leaned back, arms laying across the top of the seat, elbows bent.

"I'm here to give people some solid ground to stand on, when they can't tell reality from nightmare," Ray replied coolly, "In a peaceful and reassuring voice, I can put people at ease and bring a sense of normalcy back into their lives. The same goes for Captain Newmann."

"What are ya, psychologists?" Rooker spoke up, taking off the bandages that were on his head and arms, all props from when they were filming the movie.

"No, but it used to be part of our jobs to keep people calm and collected in cases of emergencies," the sky marshal smiled a bit wistfully, "Of course, a plane getting high-jacked may seem like a little thing compared to the Zombie Apocalypse of the 21st Century…"

"Wait, Zombie Apocalypse?" Gellar had finished wiping her hair and ice-covered shoulders with a towel when she finally tuned into the conversation, "You mean…this isn't just here?"

"…When I say apocalypse, I mean a worldwide pandemic," Ray seriously stated, leaning forward a bit to emphasize it, "Major areas of Asia, Europe, and the U.S. have been hit within minutes of the new year. January 1st was ground zero." The actors all stared at Ray in shock at first, then turned to each other and fished out their phones.

"I-I gotta call my family," Gellar was the first to speak, nervously punching in the numbers with her frozen thumbs, shaking, "Oh God, Freddie…Charlotte, please let them be all right…" Her voice died down into a frenzied murmur, eyes wide with fear. The others were doing the same thing, calling friends, family, but Ray held up his hand.

"Please, everyone stay calm," he brought motioned to one of the escorts and they brought over a laptop, to which he opened and began working on it.

"…What iz zhat?" Richtofen asked in interest, eyes finally moving from that scalpel to the intriguing futuristic device.

"A computer, Dr. Richtofen," Ray replied, then pulled up a list of survivors and used the search function, "Mr. Endlund…your wife, Nancy, is fine. She is currently housed in one of the barracks. She will be meeting us upon your arrival." Englund had been holding his hands tightly and gave a happy sob, smiling and putting his face against his clasped hands. Gellar put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, glad that the man's wife was fine, but she inhaled slightly while she waited for news of her own family.

"And Mrs. Gellar, or Mrs. Prinze if you'd prefer," she shook her head, not caring, "Your husband and daughter are also safe. They are being flown in on another shuttle and will reach Hawaii before we do." She also put her hands to her face, filled with an immense relief and Englund offered her the same support, hugging her sideways with a small happy tear running down between the wrinkles of his wizened face.

"Mr. Trejo…I am sorry to inform you that your wife and children will not be joining us," Ray informed in a quiet tone, and Trejo looked down, pressing his palm to his forehead, gritting his teeth, "…They're flight is a bit delayed and will touch down in Hawaii in a few hours after us." He looked up suddenly, then grinned and punched Ray in the shoulder, laughing.

"Don't do that to me, man," he laughed, wiping a tear that had begun to fall, "Or I'll cut your _huevos_ off!" Trejo continued to laugh a bit, although Ray was smiling in pain somewhat, massaging the abused shoulder.

"And…Mr. Rooker," the last to-be-informed actor watched Ray seriously, "Your mother was rather disagreeable with being moved from her residence in Chicago. However, we managed to convince her and now lives in one of the outer properties near the beach. She will also be meeting us." He let out a sigh of relief, then a chuckle.

"Knew the old gal wouldn't give up without a fight," he smiled and the actors all came together in a celebratory gaggle, congratulating each other on the good news all around. The other four watched the actors and something rather strange came to light. All this time, after fighting zombies and having memory loss, for most of them at least, they hadn't much to lose even if they died. These people, however…they had much more to lose. They had families to go back to, friends who cared for them, adoring fans and viewers who would miss them. It made some of them feel…empty, as ridiculously emotional as it might sound.

"All right, well, I'm sure you're all tired from this ordeal, so I'll leave you free to do what you want," Ray closed the laptop with a smile and stood up, tucking the machine under his arm, "As said by the captain, suites are at the back of the plane, food's at the front, and Dr. Richtofen?" The Nazi looked up in some surprise.

"We have a special space set up for you in the one of the lower decks of the plane," he went to one of the cabins and opened the door, showing that it was actually a long staircase with a metal railing, "If you would just come with me…" The doctor stood up, curious, and followed the sky marshal as the others started to migrate between the suites and the buffet, although Dempsey was suspicious. Just as he was about to reach for the door handle to the cabin, one of the escorts stood in front and looked at Dempsey as if he was caught red-handed.

"I'm sorry, sir, this area is off-limits to unauthorized personnel," the escort informed, placing a hand out in front of him, "You'll have to stay here." Dempsey, without a gun or knife, had to go along with it and traveled to the buffet in traditional-angry-Dempsey style. Nikolai, however, was far from unhappy as he stared at the lovely food and, particularly, fully-stocked bar, with a bartender who was getting nervous by the second as Nikolai leaned closer and closer to the drinks.

"Dempsey! Look at all the vodka!" he pulled Dempsey over to a stool and then began digging through his pockets, "…Ah…I have no moneys…"

"It's…it's all free, sir," the young bartender stuttered, the Russian alcoholic looking up, then grinning and laughing, slapping the suited-junior on the shoulder in jubilation.

"Ahah! Dempsey, this place is great!" Nikolai bellowed, then looked at the bartender, "Give me the best vodka you have, boy! And two glasses!" The boy nodded and immediately whipped out the glasses and several cubes of ice, serving them with speed and perfection. The Soviet grinned and took one glass, Dempsey reluctantly taking the other.

"We drink! To Russian planes!" Nikolai announced, Englund, Rooker, and Trejo holding up their drinks as well, preferring to dine at the buffet table, where all of the food was piled high in the center. The Russian tilted his head back with the drink and Dempsey did the same, although with less enthusiasm. Although Nikolai was obviously happy, Dempsey wasn't sure if he was. He lived for the excitement and the kills, although almost dying everyday was putting a cramp in his side. It was something alien to him, the feeling of safety. Takeo, a man of honor and pride, seemed more or less content with death being averted yet again, though he had retired to his room first as opposed to getting food or drink like the rest of them. Same with the Gellar chick…or was it Prinze? He wasn't sure anymore.

"Dempsey, you must give the little penguin the glass so he can give you vodka!" Nikolai admonished, taking it from the contemplating American and letting the boy refill it before shoving it back in his hands, "And this one is to…is to vodka!" Again, another head-tilting and down went the alcohol. Dempsey was already starting to get buzzed a bit, the vodka being real high-quality shit, but it didn't break his thought process at all. He was extremely suspicious of what they wanted with the doctor. He never trusted Richtofen in the first place, and he didn't trust whoever sent this plan to them, although that seal on the table was clearly mirroring the Presidential seal. He put his glass down and motioned for another shot.

"That's the spirit, you American drunk!" Nikolai laughed, trying to mimic Dempsey before doing the same. Dempsey drank the vodka with more gusto, gulping down the strong liquor. He didn't want to think anymore, it was getting too technical. And as a Marine Raider, his only job was to point and shoot. Screw this bureaucratic crap…all he wanted in life was a fight and a woman. One of them had been fulfilled, probably more than any man would have wanted in a lifetime, and the other…he looked at Nikolai and cringed inwardly. That one had been way too far from the checklist. However, now that they were headed into civilized territory, maybe he'd be able to catch a pretty girl, have a good fuck, and feel a little more satisfied with himself at the end of the day…yeah…with that, he fell into a drunken stupor with Nikolai, the other male actors joining in once they had their fair share of food.

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><p>chiv-id: All righty, so, might've delved into things that are a little serious for a humorous zombie shoot-em-up game, but I still hope you liked it! Oh, and don't worry, you'll definitely be seeing Gellar, Trejo, Englund, and Rooker again, so do not fret! Not sure if they're gonna fight...I don't really see it, but I'll think about it!<p>

Aaaaannnddd...I really hope I don't stray off into Mary-Sue land. Or OOC-land with any of the canon characters. Please tell me if any of this sounds out of character for you guys, or you think that they're acting really stupid! I hate when my writing goes off course! Thanks and **REVIEWWWWWWWWWW PEOPLES!**

**P.S. There are going to be some theories that come up in the next chapter, and they might not sound all sane, but please bear with me people! Thanks, and chiv-id out!**


	7. Bite You in the Ass

chiv-id: YAY, ANOTHER CHAPTER! Yeah, it might be slow-going, but at least I get the chapters up pretty quickly, right? Derp, this chapter was actually a brain-twister of an ass maggot for me to do. Richtofen is SO not the easiest character to write for, but I hope I didn't screw it up THAT badly...ugh, I probably did. Anywho, someone asked for a bit of romance and...there sort of is in this chapter. There's also a probably several questions that are going to be raised in this chapter, which, I know, I said there'd be theories, but I promise it'll come in the next chapter!

Disclaimer: The Call of Duty series, Nazi zombies, and characters are Treyarch's, not mine! 'Cept for all da characters that aren't canon...those be mine. Don't wanna list 'em all, too many already...

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 5: Bite You In the Ass

_**Recorded Conference via Video-Phone. Secure Channel Feed: A sub 5.**_

_**Present: Dr. Edward Richtofen, MAZ Chief Director Vivian Sakamoto, Sky Marshal Ray Williams.**_

_**Designate: [SAVING GRACE]; Captain Newmann presiding.**_

_**2000 hours, January 24**__**th**__**, 2012**_

"…And here are the laboratories," Williams stopped at a large metal door, one hand pressing on the pressure bar to open it, "Inside, you'll find everything you need. Oh, and the Director wants to speak to you privately, so I'll be locking the door from out here. There will be a few guards posted outside the door to make sure you two are alone." Richtofen stared at the sterile working environment, test tubes of specimens and samples all labeled and organized neatly, strange machines that were completely alien and foreign to him, and some sort of strange box on the ceiling that was projecting some light onto the blank white wall across from the door.

"...Quite ze set up," Richtofen strolled into the room, sliding a leather-covered finger across the surface of an immaculately clean metal table, examining it shortly after, "You have me intrigued, Villiams. Ze voices are being quiet now." Williams gave Richtofen a warning look to keep the insanity to himself before closing the room behind the doctor. Once he left, the German looked around for this supposed Director who wished to meet him, but found the room bare of any life except himself. That is, life that wasn't inside a test tube. He picked up a few sheets of data that were left in a small pile and his eyes zeroed in on the words 'Group 935'.

"Hello again, doctor," a somewhat tired voice caused him to spin around with scalpel in hand, but calmed when he saw it was a projection of a woman, "You know, scalpels _are_ considered dangerous weaponry." Only her torso was showing, a grey tank top covered by a white jacket being the only clothing she wore, as far as he could tell, and her glasses reflected some kind of glare from a light. Her hair was a stark black and was woven into a bun with a single long chopstick holding everything in place. The woman's face was somewhat pale and moon-shaped, indicating that she was of Asian descent and had somewhat of an attractiveness about her, but the tired look she wore diminished the youthfulness of her voice. Her pose was of someone about to fall asleep, her chin propped up by a loose fist.

"…Vivian?" he asked, approaching the image with caution.

"_Yes_," she replied, sitting up properly, "_I apologize for my appearance, but there wasn't much time to prepare myself after hearing of your safe departure from Siberia._" Almond-shaped brown eyes with small blood-shot streaks in them peered down at him through slightly thick, yet stylish glasses.

"I sheee…" he reached out and touched the wall, amazed by how lifelike the image was in the first place, "What is zhis?"

"_A standard 21__st__ century projector, doctor_," her image looked down at him, "_And besides bothering with the machinery, I assume you have some questions for me?_"

"…All business, _ja_?" he backed away so that he could look at her image better, crossing his arms slowly, "So…'Director'?" Vivian laughed lightly and opened her fist, now dropping her forehead onto an open palm and kneading her frontal lobe in a rather frustrated way. Full lips were beginning to swell with blood and bruise from the way she kept gnawing on her bottom lip.

"_Hmm…long story,_" she answered, giving a sigh that belied the stress that she was feeling, "_And I'd rather not discuss how I got landed with the title particularly…"_

"…Zhen zhat man…Villiams…who iz he _really_?" She smirked and brought up read outs along with her own image, Richtofen uncrossing his arms and again getting close, looking at the sky marshal's credentials.

"_No tricks here, my good doctor_," she put her fist under her chin as she used her pointer finger to drag various documents before his eyes, "_As paranoid as you are, I've taken the liberty of having everyone sign waivers to waive their private rights to reassure you that we are not some rats trying to prey upon your knowledge. All of their information, aside from their social security number and a few other details, I've provided for you here._" Richtofen looked at the documents and then back at her, eyes glinting from under his hat, showing that he was quite serious, even more so than his usual self.

"_We..._**I**_ need you to trust me here,_" she emphasized, eyes also becoming hardened, "_You don't have to like me, or enjoy working with me, __**but**__…you do this? I can get you whatever you want or need. Information, materials, resources. You name it, we've got it._" He looked back at the documents then at her.

"You are crafty, _Fraulein..._" the doctor leaned back, one hand on the papers with the 'Group 935' information on it, "However, I do believe trust vorks both ways…you know too much. How?"

"…_Somewhere in some distant future, you sent your time machine back to the Pentagon, around the 1960s,_" Vivian started, leaning back in her chair comfortably, "_It remained undiscovered for a few years until Presidential agents discovered a strange source of radiation leaking from one of the underground sectors. Unfortunately for the agents…they were turned into something less than human._"

"Mmmm…" he hummed in an almost seductive tone, which caused Vivian to raise an eyebrow, "Continue." The eyebrow remained raised for a few moments before her face became stonewalled again, pushing her glasses up. She had heard the doctor's strange fetishes, but necrophilia was just wrong. Not to mention unbearably unsanitary. How could a doctor love the dead in such a way? Her stomach started to curl, but she pushed those nauseating feelings aside to focus on the task at hand.

"_It was a rather well-contained incident, and only through the detailed reports of our dearest President John F. Kennedy were we able to find out about this. In it, he described the onslaught of dead employees and the horrors of gunning down his fellow Americans, albeit reanimated versions of them who feasted on human flesh,_" her eyes became half-lidded, staring at him, "_And after fighting his way to the lower levels of the Pentagon, he finally discovered what had caused the leak: a machine of unknown origin and make._" Vivian drew up one diagram that Richtofen recognized in a heartbeat.

"_Yes, the MDT,_" she voiced his thoughts for him, his eyes drawn from the picture to her face, and she leaned forward, her fingers coming together and intertwining, "_Within the confines of your time-traveling device, the President and his remaining trusted officers found radio journals as well as written logs that belonged to you. While some of it was damaged, they were able to decipher several entries and catalogued them in the CIA database. Decades later, we arrive at the Zombie Apocalypse of the 21__st__ Century, and buried underneath a mountain of red tape and other classified material were your records. Using them, we've been able to pinpoint you and your teammates' location when you arrived during this time period, and thus saved you from an unexpected disaster._"

"…You mean you did not know of ze bomber beforehand?" Richtofen asked, "I am sure zhat I vould have remembered zhat…or maybe not, who knows? _Haaha!_" Another insane laugh and she closed her eyes, trying to remember that this man was mentally sick and screaming would only fuel the insanity. And his condition seemingly only came into play in aggressive or rather chaotic situations.

"_It is possible that you did record such an event, but again, they were only able to salvage so much from the MDT's interior,_" she opened her eyes, sitting up and pulled a few papers to her, straightening them into a pile, "_However, from what they did find, it was imparted to me that you were rather interested in 'Group 935'. And as it so happens, as am I._" The doctor and her eyes met for a moment before he smirked and held up the pile of papers before letting them slip through his gloved fingers. The corner of Vivian's right eye twitched in annoyance, irked. It took a while for her to compile those documents on the elusive organization and Richtofen was more or less being an ass.

"I do not do gopher vork," he replied in an uninterested voice, "Und I do not vork vell with ozhers." Vivian raised an eyebrow again, rather surprised that he was so adverse to giving help before receiving help.

"_What of your compatriots?_" she asked, but he gave a somewhat cold and clinical look, "_…I see. I had hoped what you spoke of in your logs was merely a façade, but…_"

"Does zhis change your need of me?" Richtofen held up his scalpel and started inspecting it again, finding that the conversation was boring him.

"_…No,_" she concluded in an equally cold attitude, her eyes gaining a steely element to it, "_It isn't my job to regulate the moral boundaries of this mission._" There was a small pause in her words before she closed her eyes again, a small puff of warm air exhaling from her nose before looking at the Nazi. Said-Wehrmacht soldier noticed the hesitation and figured that despite the woman's words, she was most likely disturbed. Ethics…worthless in the pursuit of higher knowledge, as Richtofen enjoyed emphasizing.

"_Doctor Richtofen…did you or did you not swear the Hippocratic Oath when taking that title?_"

"What does zhat have to do with any of zhis?" he was now getting annoyed, glaring up at her from under his cap. It was a necessary procedure to becoming a doctor, yes, but it never stopped him from plucking an eye out of a man's head while he was still alive, or amputating a limb when it was in pristine condition. Experiments were apart of his nature, and considered himself more scientist than doctor in reality.

"_What we…my mistake, _**I**_ want is a cure,_" she finally confessed, gesturing to the entirety of the lab, "_I've gone through the trouble of reinstating the Charger for a purpose, doctor. These planes were once used as airborne laboratories, with the highest degree of safety and advancement that technology and money could provide. You have been afforded the same resources here._" Vivian began typing in a few commands into her computer and several lights went on around him, drawing his attention in particular to large glass tubes that housed what seemed to be human body parts and other visceral specimens. Richtofen squealed in his normal high-pitched tone and went over to those first, grinning wildly when he saw that some of the specimens _were still moving_.

"Oh I feel like I just got a Wunderwaffe!" he ecstatically moaned, hands grasping the slick glass surface of the closest 'test tube'.

"_Doctor, focus,_" came the warning joy-kill, his face turning to look back at the projection of Vivian, her mouth drawn in a tight line and eyes serious, "_I've provided you with what I could…although I'm sure karma's going to bite me in the ass for this…_" Vivian wasn't kidding, still feeling slightly guilty over keeping the zombified bodies and body parts without the knowledge of surviving family members who were related to the deceased monstrosities.

"_Ja_, zhank you," he started looking to see how he could extract the body parts, excitedly moving around the giant tube before stopping again, "Vait…wouldn't my future self already have made a cure, if zhere vas one? Then again…who would vant to stop zhis…" He made a small moan and the disturbed man continued to watch the dismembered limbs bob before him in the embalming fluid.

"_That is exactly the point, you lunatic_," she could feel a vein throbbing in her forehead, remembering when she had read and listened to all the journal entries, only to find the good doctor had not found even an inkling of a cure for the damned zombie disease, "_So, because you were so…unhelpful, I had to start from scratch. About three weeks-worth of hard analyzation, observations, trials and errors are all in those papers you just dropped on the floor. And those 'specimens' can be obtained by simply choosing one of the options from this console._" At her command, two panels slid open and a control panel with a touch-screen interface rose from the bottom of the deck, Richtofen immediately coming over to it.

"Oooohhh, you shouldn't have!" the doctor continued to use that rather high-pitched tone of his, starting to scroll through the inventory.

"_Focus…_" she warned again, Richtofen reluctantly turning around to face her, "_Now, I would love to go over all of the data we've given you, but we're hard-pressed here at the moment._" She pressed a few buttons and the lights over the embalmment tubes shut off, the control panel retracting back into its place underneath the floor. The doctor looked at where it disappeared, then at Vivian rather annoyed.

"_And I can't leave you unsupervised,_" she explained in a short brief answer, "_Orders from the top. I'll work with you in a few hours, however, so maybe you can get some sleep._"

"Nein, ze voices keep me from shleeping," he denied automatically, then picked up one paper, "You said zhat you vanted me to trust you? Vhat about you trusting me?" Vivian looked up from the locking mechanisms she was inputting, shutting down the lab for the moment to conserve power in the plane. She stopped what she was doing and her shoulders went a bit lax, having been bunched up from focusing on her screen too much.

"_…Doctor,_" she began, putting her fingers together again, "_You and I both know that trusting you is like putting your ass in shark-infested waters and hoping they don't bite you. And I know how it feels to have something bite you in the ass…_" The amount of seriousness in her voice made the doctor almost laugh, and he had to put his hand over his mouth to contain the giggles. Despite that, he knew she was right. After all, the other three had only survived because they were his experiments and test subjects. Not to mention that they were good at killing zombies, which was rather crucial.

"You know so much about me…vhat about ze ozhers?" he asked, curious, "Or perhaps…you are interested in me in more zhen one way, hmm?" Vivian felt the corner of her eye twitch again and leaned closer to the camera.

"_Think what you like, I researched you so that I could avoid being used by you_," she stated honestly and without much tact, "_Because the doctor is one crafty son of a bitch as I've heard. You can understand the man from his actions, his words, his beliefs, but…you can only understand the monster once you've heard his inner thoughts._" The edge of Richtofen's mouth turned upwards slightly. Ahhh…so here was the proverbial holy fire that came with ethical cleansing of the damned. He missed that.

"_…However, like I said, it's not my place to judge,_" she backed off, which surprised him, "_Doctor, I'll need you to leave the facility. Go have some dinner or get some sleep. You'll need it._" With that, she shut off the two-way communication feed and the Nazi was left alone to his own devices. He stared at the blank wall for a second or two before looking around the now powered down lab, dim lights blinking along the floor to show him the way out.

"Clever, _Fraulein_…clever," he muttered with some distaste, mixed in with a bit of interest and respect, "However, you cannot stop ze doctor from getting vhat he vants…_hahaahaaah!_" The maniacal laugh echoed around the room as his boots made soft clip-clopping sounds, meeting Williams outside and having the man brief him on other laboratory protocols. Not listening to a word, he reflecting on meeting the young director.

'…Group 935,' he thought, 'One step closer to ze truth…'

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><p>chiv-id: WHELPS, HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT CHAPTER FOLKS! Yeah, it was...disturbing to try and write from the perspective of Richtofen. Dude is fucked in the mind so hard...so hard...*shakes head*<p>

Anyway, again, you might be wondering about a few things, such as what Richtofen wants or why give him a flying laboratory when he'll be landing in Hawaii in a short 12 hours (it sort of is short when you think about it, and his lab time is being shaved a few hours because of how busy Vivian is). These will all be answered in the next chapter, so you can leave a review asking about it, but I please be patient! And really, **REVIEW **people! I'd like to improve on representing the characters better, so if you say what needs to be improved on, I'll work on it for the next chapter! So **REVIEW!**


	8. You Wearing a Bra?

chiv-id: The title...sounds exactly as it sounds. LOL, jokes, jokes! Anyway, I finally came out with another chapter! LULZ, I was sort of waiting for reviews (cuz I'm a review-hog), so I apologize for the long wait! If it makes a difference, this chapter is WAAAAYYYY longer than the ones I've been pumping out for this story so far. It's also...sort of more M-rated than the other stories. Much more crude. 'Cuz Nazi Zombies is like that and shiyaat. Pfffttt...

Disclaimer: Treyarch owns Nazi Zombies and the Call of Duty series. All new characters you've never heard of before are mine!

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 6: You Wearing a Bra?

_**[SAVING GRACE] enroute to Hawaii. ETA: 10 hours.**_

_**Mission Status: Success. Status of Passengers and Crew: Clean.**_

_**[Living Quarters]: Gellar, Takeo, Richtofen, Dempsey. [Buffet]: Belinski, Trejo, Englund, Rooker.**_

_**2200 hours, January 24**__**th**__**, 2012**_

It was two hours from their initial departure when Dempsey found himself pacing about irritably around his room, his feet loudly thumping on the carpet. He was more or less alone, which was for the best, and less likely to kill anyone that way, though the guards outside of the living quarters were getting antsy from all the sounds the enraged man was making. Dempsey sat down and put his elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor with an angry look, the guards calming as they listened carefully. He opened his jaw a couple of times, one hand coming up to massage a slightly swelled cheek.

For the first time in his life, after losing his memories, Dempsey was given the chance to relax and find pleasure in other things besides killing. However, truth be told, there was rarely anything other than killing that aroused his interests, so he was more or less bored. And when he was bored, he tended to get aggressive and cranky, much to the passengers' surprise. Dempsey remembered the small scene just a half-hour before, to his disgust, and flared his nostrils to snort loudly.

"**Fucking ass maggots, Nikolai!**" the American soldier had shouted, getting up from his chair, "**First Tak, now you?**" The stupid Russian had drunk too much vodka and couldn't hold it, upping nearly $3000 worth of premium vodka, to which the bartender, named Rick, cringed while the other actors watched them in surprise and slight disgust. And most of that partially digested alcohol was blown over the counter and Dempsey.

"My bad," Nikolai burped, then looked at the young man behind the bar awkwardly, "More."

"Sir, if you keep drinking like this, you may get alcohol poisoning-" Rick was shut up immediately when the drunk Russian's eyes grew fierce and he reached out to grasp the man's collar, glaring harshly.

"_Vodka. Now_," he demanded, but Dempsey instead grabbed Nikolai and punching the Russian in the face. Admittedly, had Dempsey not been so irritable, he would've just been disgusted then laughed it off, but he just felt…**needed** something to attack. Nikolai unintentionally became a target and a small scuffle occurred, with Trejo having to restrain Nikolai and Englund and Rooker holding Dempsey back from hitting him anymore. Eventually, Trejo put the large Russian man in a sleeper hold and he slipped to the floor, wheezing and weak, while Rooker socked Dempsey in the jaw. Englund was the most mature of the three actors and stood before the two soldiers with a deep set frown.

"What's the matter with you two? Aren't you guys friends with each other? One minute drinking, the next fighting," Englund shook his head and knelt down, taking his slightly damp hat off, "Look fellas, we've been saved. We get to live another day! Be thankful for that and try not to bite each other's heads off!" He put his hat back on firmly and nodded with a solid demeanor, age and life experience etched into each wrinkle of his face. Both Nikolai and Dempsey were quiet, having perhaps even forgotten why they fought in the first place. It didn't seem like a reasonable reason, but they've done worse things from even less.

"…Shit, I smell," Dempsey was the first to speak and got up, not talking to Nikolai as he walked away, but he could tell the big Russian was staring at him with confused eyes. The man wasn't by any means a rocket scientist, but he was a lot more deep set in his emotions than everyone else. He was the most expressive when it came to what he was feeling, although most of the time it was anger or drunken happiness. And now, Dempsey knew Nikolai was about to bury himself further into the alcohol, usually trying to solve anything he didn't understand or know by getting drunk.

"…Hey, _ese_," Trejo was by the connecting door between the lounge and the buffet area, leaning against the frame, "You alright?" Dempsey stared at him for a second before giving a small snort and leaving anyway, refusing to answer the man's surprising question. For a man as hardened as Trejo, the American Marine Raider expected him to avoid emotional questions like the plague, and had even begun to respect the older fighter when he came back to rescue them from the home-made mortar round fiasco. Despite all this, the man was just as much of a lie as the other actors, pretending to be something they weren't, and only surviving by the skin of their teeth. They weren't real soldiers, only fake ones, and trained well enough to avoid death under the immediate circumstances. Had they been there for much longer, these people wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Drunk bastard…" Dempsey had muttered as he walked to the back of the plane towards the 'suite' area, finding his name on one of the doors and opening it to find a rather luxurious room. Outfitted with even a separate bathroom and a television, he was amazed that there could even be such a thing on a plane. What impressed him the most was a work-out station in the corner of the area, weights and even what looked like a miniature-shooting range, with guns probably loaded with rubber bullets. Instead of marveling at it, however, he just went into the shower and stripped naked. Warm water ran down the white man's face as he slowly calmed down, though he was still mildly agitated, and also scrubbed some of the vodka-vomit from his pants and shirt. He could wash clothes to a very limited degree, having had to live in the same ensemble since he could remember while fighting zombies, so once he was done, he left them on the railing where the shower curtain fell and walked out only with a towel set around his waist.

"…Fuck," he put a hand over his face and began pacing, which is where the story ends. Now seated on the bed, he had in his other hand the Medal of Honor that he carried around with him since he first escaped captivity. It was perhaps the only clue to his missing memories, and the only thing besides his clothes that were from before his time fighting zombies. He flipped it over with his fingers, examining it once more. Frayed red, blue, and white threads stuck out here and there from the ribbon, and the medal itself was tarnished with more than just age and rust.

Maybe zombies were what kept his mind occupied, but now that he had all this time to himself…he couldn't help but wonder about his previous life. Takeo seemed to have remembered a small portion of his life, having had an arranged marriage with a woman he had never touched before and now never will. Nikolai also regained parts of his memory, particularly about his wives and at least one daughter, though he too was caught up in the zombie-killing to be reminded of them. Perhaps that's why he drank himself to death almost every night…to forget he had a family once, even if he killed most of his wives. Dempsey wasn't sure if Richtofen lost any memories, which made the Nazi general more suspicious than he already was. Then, there was only Dempsey, who had no memories left, whatsoever. Just this old Medal of Honor…

"Richtofen…I know that bastard has something to do with it," his fist closed around the medal and he went to his clothes, but they were still damp, "Damn…" He looked around and stared at a dresser, opening one of the drawers and was surprised to see a few articles of clothing in it. Not being too picky, he threw on a white wife beater and some camo-pants. Apparently military-issue, since the guards were wearing the same things. He got out of the room and looked around, the guards no longer paying attention since Dempsey had quieted down, then saw Richtofen open his door, having kept his old clothes, but was clean of the grime and filth that had accumulated on him. The Weimar general was half-in, half-out of his room, seemingly talking to someone.

"_...Keep an…you don't know what…discuss now_," a woman's voice emanated from the open space and Dempsey's eyes narrowed, getting curious.

"_Ja, ja_, just need somezhing to drink," Richtofen waved and exited, pulling on his gloves a little after closing the door behind him. Dempsey watched the doctor leave and, with a second look-around, quickly snuck into the German's room, closing the door quietly behind him. His room wasn't so much different from Dempsey's, although there was a small study and a gigantic bookcase filled with reference materials, but what caught his attention was the TV. Whereas Dempsey's had been the size of a normal one, Richtofen's was huge and there was a small keyboard-like device sitting on the bed. Gingerly picking it up, he flipped it over in his hand, unsure of what to do with it and pressed the spacebar.

"_Well, that was quick, did you-_" it was that same voice he had heard not a few moments before and Dempsey turned around to look at the TV, which had been off originally. Now, a young lady's upper torso and face were shown, although she looked rather surprised to see Dempsey. For a second, there was silence, then she brought her hand up to push the talk-button on her headset, seemingly talking to someone else before addressing the American.

"_…Hello Mr. Dempsey, it is good to finally meet you. But I believe you are in the wrong room_," she picked up a sheet of paper and pulled down her glasses to look at it, squinting, "_Your room is on the opposite side of the corridor._" Her polite, yet snarky tone was very familiar and recognized that it was Vivian, the same woman who had been helping them earlier.

"Yeah, I found it," he smartly replied and tossed the keyboard on the bed, having done its purpose, "What are you and doc talking about, huh?" She put her glasses back on and looked at Dempsey, brushing her bangs from her eyes.

"_…Well, it does concern you to a certain degree_," she spoke in a polite, yet robotic tone, flipping through some documents with her, "_However, before Richtofen comes and causes a scene, I suggest you go to your own room._"

"If it's 'my business', then I think I'll stay," he stubbornly refused, a fist clenching, "I prefer to know when I'm going to get blindsided." She pulled her glasses off and leaned closer to the camera, surprising Dempsey who saw that her eyes were actually larger without the optical aid.

"_I will tell you the situation separately because Dr. Richtofen is a rather unstable man who is already a Type-1 Schizophrenic. I'd rather not add fuel to the fire by making him feel insecure in his own room_," she narrowed her eyes somewhat, "_And if you want to be briefed so badly, I can always contact you via video phone in your own room. I specifically told Williams to mention this to each of you, should you have any problems or questions._" Dempsey did remember slightly about the video phones, but he was more or less trying to hack up a lung or two while the sky marshal was talking.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Dempsey growled, getting close the TV and speaking in a dangerously dark and quiet tone, "Whatever you say to him, you can say to me. I'm not leaving until I get some answers."

"_And you will get them!_" she stood up and a bit of her lower body showed, Dempsey glancing down at her shorts then at her face again, "_Believe me, you will get them! I…I just need you to work with me here!_" There was a bit of exasperation and anger creeping in and cracking that polite mask she had thrown up in his face. He almost smirked in victory, feeling triumphant in wearing his enemy down. One hand went to her forehead, covering her eyes and massaging as Vivian slowly lowered herself back into her seat, a 'whumph' sound coming from the chair in protest to her sudden drop after.

"_Dempsey…please, I am begging you, I haven't had enough sleep to be considered human anymore,_" she chuckled with more exasperation, a small desperate smile playing on her lips, "_Just go to your room and I will talk to you separately over there. Five minutes with the doctor is all I need, I swear. Then, whatever questions you have, whatever information you want that I am authorized to give you, you are welcome to it!_" The exhaustion, the tiredness, he could see it within every inch of herself that he could see, so it was making her break down. Causing her to talk in a more informal voice and even pull that stick out of her ass.

"All right…but one question before I go…" he finally conceded, Vivian giving a sigh of relief before sitting up better, "You wearing a bra, Viv?" During her shuffling and moving, the zipper of her white jacket had dropped, showing the grey tank top underneath. And the way she was acting, Dempsey had an idea of what kind of girl she was, deciding to tease her with a bit of a smirk on his face. Her eyes went wide and she attacked the camera with both hands.

"_OUT!_" she bellowed in a tremendously loud voice, something that should have been impossible for someone as small as her, but it made Dempsey actually recoil and leave. The MAZ Chief Director uncovered the camera and zipped up her jacket, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair, a slight blush running over her cheeks. Luckily, Vivian had been talking with the guards to make sure to delay the doctor should he return while the bothersome American was still in his room. After giving a small explanation of how to access certain files, she left Richtofen to his own devices, letting him study on what had been discovered while she started up a connection to Dempsey's room, the small TV now giving way to a much larger TV that had been merely covered by the drapery on the cabinet it was in.

"You didn't answer my question," Dempsey brought the issue up again and one hand crossed over her chest, resting under the elbow of the other arm. Its hand had a finger massaging a temple for a few seconds before she calmed down and gave a small sigh.

"_It's not relevant,_" she replied coolly, "_Besides, anything I wear is none of your concerns, Raider_." The last word caught his attention and he began to become serious, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at her.

"So…you do know who I was before…" he quietly acknowledged, Vivian nodding and pulling out his file.

"_I can only reveal to you some of the things I have here…I'm sure the rest you'd like to find out on your own_," she muttered as her fingers navigated between the thick pieces of paper, "_Tank Dempsey…you were once called a war hero back in the 1940s during World War II for your astonishing courage and duty in Peleliu as well as the performance of various other missions that were classified, although it seems that they were dangerous enough for you to be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. That is to say, you weren't a saint, but you got the job done._" Dempsey snorted at her correction and waved his hand for her to get on with it.

"_You had no spouses, no living relatives of which to speak of_," she went to the next page, "_You were quite well known for your temper and…hmm…I suppose that explains for your crude humor._" Vivian pushed her glasses up and Dempsey raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked, although he didn't like her tone. The Asian woman leaned back in her chair comfortably, a scene that would become very familiar to him as they continued to talk.

"_You're a well-known ladies' man, what with your impressive service history, the girls were all lining up for you. You had gotten three married wives pregnant and it became a scandal,_" she murmured, flipping another page over, "_Of course, it was covered up, but not before you nearly throttled one of the husbands when he, quote on quote, 'got in your face and asked for it'._" Dempsey grinned and chuckled darkly, approving of the action.

"What happened to the dumbass?"

"_They pulled you off before his face became road kill, but went into a coma shortly after. He woke up a few months later, but was slightly catatonic and apparently had night terrors about you, as detailed by his psychiatrist who diagnosed him with post traumatic stress disorder_," she closed the file with one hand, her eyes focused off-camera and gave one small sigh again.

"_There are some other personal things in here,_" she murmured, then glanced back at him, "_I can leave them to you, if you'd rather I not read them._"

"You uncomfortable with my dirty laundry?" he smirked and caused Vivian to roll her eyes.

"_This file details your childhood, your family, your 'self',_" she brought a hand to her head, scratching and making some of her hair fall loose from the bun, "_Thought you'd be more private about your life. And if it were the case, I'd respect that privacy._"

"If I really did sleep with those chicks, and you just read about 'em," he chuckled, settling more on the bed and making the atmosphere somewhat less informal, "Then I think we're beyond 'respecting my privacy'." Dempsey's opinion about the young MAZ Chief Director was limited to what he could see in the lens of the camera, but she was far better than the sausage factory he had been working in. Besides, she wasn't so bad on the eyes, and it was fun bringing that perfect little mask crashing down around her when she got too stressed out. And it seemed like she was getting that a lot.

"_Okay then,_" she shrugged, her fingers adjusting her glasses again as a sign of continuation, "_You were a typical army brat before, with a father always offshore and a mother with too much time on her hands as a housewife. Your mother was…a loose woman, who took advantage of your father's leave of absences, although your father was just as adventurous during his married period. This may be the reason why you're so…_"

"God damn sexy?" Dempsey laughed with a bit of seriousness mixed in, lying back on the bed with his hands underneath his head, muscles clearly outlined by his wife beater. His joking caused Vivian's eyes to widen just a bit before she cleared her throat and looked away. Oh, she was gonna be fun to tease…

"_I was going to say 'cavalier',_" she gathered the papers nearest to her and tapped them on the desk to straighten them, "_And perhaps the most interesting piece of information here is what you were doing before your zombie-escapades back in the 1940s. You were sent on a recovery mission along with your fellow Marine Raiders, however, you were listed as _**KIA**_ after you were sent in._"

"What was the mission?" he asked immediately, now interested and sitting up somewhat.

"_This is one of those 'government operations' I said I wasn't going to be able to speak about_," Vivian refused, turning the copy of the mission around to show that it was completely blacked out in permanent marker before it was sent to her, "_If I could tell you, I would. The facts aren't up to me to spill, though._" He laid back again and gave a small grunt, the Medal of Honor still in his right hand, clenched tightly.

"What about you and the doctor?" he then asked, deciding that if that was all he could get, might as well figure out what that suspicious no-good Nazi was up to. Vivian looked up from her sorting and organizing before brushing her bangs out of the way and putting the papers down.

"_…You and your companions are being enlisted into the services of MAZ_," she told, bringing her hands together, "_To help us find a cure for this apocalypse._"

"A cure? Have you seen these things?" Dempsey narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he got off the bed and paced, "At this point, more people are dying from being eaten than getting infected. Hell, my whole crew got chomped on at one point or another, and it didn't turn _us_, so it's not a disease."

"_That's the complicated part in of itself,_" she brought up a few articles of interest onto the screen, mostly pictures, "_Up until a few days ago, scientists believed that the__** Z-Virus**__ was passed through saliva or other bodily fluids, such as biting or getting their blood in a wound. However, it was discovered that what was occurring when the infected bit or scratched a healthy human being was a disease much akin to AIDS, in which it lowered the body's immune system to foreign contagions. It became labeled as the __**Nosos**__**Virus**__, for its likeness to releasing infection to a human's body like releasing the evil from Pandora's box. While it lowered the resistance, the Nosos Virus also evolved._"

"…Evolved?" Dempsey quietly muttered in confusion, "Whaddya mean 'evolved'?"

"_For some reason, the Nosos Virus, which the infected carry, bonds well with an unknown presence and is transformed into the original Z-Virus. The Z-Virus then kills its host and reanimates it to a certain degree,"_ she explained, showing pictures of the Nosos strain and the Z-strain, _"The Nosos Virus has also been called the pupa stage while the Z-Virus the adult stage, completing a rather complicated and total genetic metamorphosis._" Vivian watched as Dempsey got closer to the screen, looking at the two viruses.

"What's the unknown compound?" he asked, Vivian nodding at the reasonable question.

"_It's unlike anything we've ever encountered before,_" she murmured, sitting back and putting a knuckle to her lips in thought, "_However, we know that it's been…lurking in our atmosphere for quite some time now, the worldwide pandemic indicating that saturation was complete and total. Our analysts have made some theoretical projections and believe it may have started leaking into the ozone layer over half a decade ago._"

"…It's 2012, right?" Dempsey asked quietly, Vivian nodding, "Sounds like it started when _we_ started fighting zombies…"

"_…That's interesting,_" she replied and started typing up something, "_I'll just keep that catalogued here for further evidence on that theory. Anyway, we have observed that the subject would experience a brief period of vulnerability to foreign bacteria while under the effects of the Nosus Virus, but without the second airborne substance, the human host would build an immunity to it just like it would to a vaccine and the threat would be negated._" Dempsey backed away from the images that Vivian was dragging up, no longer interested in the rather strange bacteria shapes.

"Sorry, was that English?" he asked, not as well versed in medical lore.

"_What I meant was, the Nosus Virus and the mystery chemical are like…gunpowder and a match,_" Vivian spoke, trying to use a comparison he could understand, _"While separated, they are harmless and not much of a concern. Together, however, they create a situation that is explosive and catastrophically deadly._"

"All right, so…what's that got to do with us?" Dempsey asked, one hand going to the back of his head to scratch at some faint scars.

"_As far as we know, your group is the only one that has been bitten and has not been transformed into those mindless flesh-eaters,_" she explained, pushing her glasses up as she leaned forward, "_Moreover, the doctor's diaries seem to contain a lot of information that could potentially be used to create a true vaccine to the virus…although it would've been more helpful had the doctor mentioned things other than maiming and his love of raining body parts._" Dempsey would've probably liked the sassy, smart comment had she not mentioned the doctor.

"Hnn," he grunted, turning his back to the camera, "Fine, how come we're immune?" Vivian adjusted her jacket and looked at him analytically.

"_That's why we're bringing you back here, to have a few tests run,_" she held up her hands when he turned around swiftly, "_We aren't forcing you to do them, but they will be of tremendous help to us. And we only need a few samples of your blood or hair, for instance, to determine what may be causing your immunity. All of the procedures will be completely non-invasive, I assure you._"

"You saying 'non-invasive' ain't putting me at ease," Dempsey snapped back in a sour tone, "Try harder."

"_…As I said, we are not going to force you,_" she reiterated calmly, "_We don't experiment on people unwillingly, Mr. Dempsey. And everything is done under my watch. However, again, we are enlisting you in the services, to at least contribute something while you're around. That _does_ happen to be mandatory._"

"Yeah, mandatory," Dempsey turned to look at her again, "Listen, if killing is patriotic, I'm the most patriotic motherfucker out there. But if you're thinking about poking around inside my melon, I'm gonna make sure that it gets _real_ fucking patriotic. I didn't get on this plane to get fucking tested on!" He wasn't sure how loyal he was to his country before the mind-wipe, but Dempsey wasn't going to let some liberal assholes get their hands on his brain.

"_We aren't going to mess with your head, Mr. Dempsey,_" she replied after a short silence, probably to collect her thoughts after his small outburst, "_Just some blood and tissue analysis. Nothing more. I'm not going to traumatize people in the name of science, unlike someone you and I both know, but I am willing to do whatever is necessary to stop this plague._" The American soldier cooled his head for a few seconds, but still didn't trust or put down his guard in front of the unknown woman.

"_Oh…and it's not about being patriotic, Mr. Dempsey,_" she held up a finger before leaning in close to the camera, narrowing her eyes, "_It's about saving people and being a hero. And before you start saying you're some big hero for killing zombies, take a moment to figure out what the word 'hero' means. Vivian out._" With that, the screen went black and Dempsey was now alone again in his room. He sat back down on the bed and gave a snort, not at all pleased with Vivian's admonishing tone. Was he some teenager? No, he was fucking adult who just fought his way through 50+ years of zombies to get to where he was now. Which apparently was stuck on a government plane on his way to get tested on. Fucking brilliant.

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><p>Meanwhile, Vivian was sitting back in her chair, fingers on her temples and massaging. Dempsey was a hard man to talk to, although considering his history and personality, it wasn't all that surprising to see how stubborn and guarded he turned out to be. She looked at his file and picked it up, then stood up suddenly and just threw it against the door, the smattering of papers and photographs loud and attention-drawing. Her co-workers and employees looked up from their stations in concern, but she waved them off, instead pacing like a restless animal. Again, logically she could see how all of these past events may have turned him into the hard-headed man he was today. Didn't mean it made dealing with him any less frustrating. Moreover, she was getting worked up from all the pent up stress and 'entitlement' issues she had to work out with a couple of folks.<p>

"_Ringleader, the [SAVING GRACE] is requesting another audience with you,_" a young woman spoke in her ear, almost making Vivian take off the headphones and let it join the mess of Dempsey's file on the floor, "_From the captain's cabin, ma'am._"

"…All right, patch him through," she replied, taking a deep breath and sitting back down in the chair, "And keep me updated on that convict group. If they make any moves on the caravan, I want them put _down_, understood? Safeties off." A brief confirmation was heard before a small static noise gave way to Newmann's voice.

"Hey Newmann, how's the flight?"

"_Easy breezy, Ringleader,_" he reported, a few clicks and some noise from the engines cutting in now and then, "_[SAVING GRACE] is as smooth as can be. Just wanted to say thanks for letting me pilot again. Started going stir-crazy from being grounded._"

"No problem, Newmann," she sighed, liking that aesthetically calming voice of his, "Glad to help with the wings. Listen, be advised, satellites been showing some strange weather in your flight path. You might want to curve your way over Japan instead of going over the Okhotsk."

"_Roger, Ringleader, advice taken. By the way, about our passengers, we've got a lot of unstable testosterone in here. Heard a tussle going on earlier._"

"Don't worry about that Newmann, that's what the guards are for," she smiled, leaning back in her chair, "And you have that knockout gas you can just toss in there if things get a little too crazy. Just be sure to secure your gas mask before doing so."

"_Heh, I don't know too much about that ma'am, but I'll be sure to follow up if I end up with a bar fight on my hands,_" he paused for a moment, presumably checking the readings, "_All right, well, I won't take up too much of your time now. See you in 9 hours. Newmann out._"

"Bye Newmann," she responded before the connection was cut, already missing the soothing sound of his voice. Vivian, however, had no time to reminisce as she heard gunfire in her headphones.

"_They're attacking! Requesting green-light on weapons, green-light on weapons!_" she grit her teeth before replying.

"Yes, weapons are already green-lit!" she replied, but a few screams were heard before she paled, "Rodriguez? Rodriguez, answer me! Damn it!" Vivian stood up and pressed the intercom button again.

"**DEANNE, I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING GREEN-LIGHT THOSE WEAPONS! GET OUT!**" the young woman who had informed her earlier now stood up, sputtering in shock and surprise, "**I DON'T CARE! **_**WE**_** CAN'T AFFORD TO MAKE MISTAKES! YOU CAN'T DO YOUR JOB? LEAVE!**" The girl left with tears in her eyes, everyone looking from her to Vivian in quiet stares.

"The same goes for the rest of you! Now give me the nearest infected locations!" she let go of the button, typing and clicking furiously on her computer. On her screen, the group was now being assaulted by the convicts, with a zombie horde nearby. The only thing separating them from the fighting groups was an electronic security door. In a split second, she made her decision.

"Private Gerrold," she paged the next available officer, and she saw one of the thermal images put a hand to their head.

"_Gerrold here! We're under heavy fire! Lieutenant Rodriguez is…is dead, ma'am! What do we do?_" the boy was nearly hysterical, apparently one of the few fighting soldiers left.

"Gerrold, I need you to stay focused here," she commanded, his sobs slowly quieting, although background noise of gunshots and howls didn't, "When I tell you to, take the remaining survivors and your squad down Fern Street and have them run as fast as they can. It's just behind you, can you do that, private?" The hiccupping soldier stuttered out a 'yes' and she nodded.

"Good, now on my mark," her finger hovered over the space bar, "Three…two…one, GO!" The armed man's thermal image bolted from his place behind an abandoned car and seemingly got the rest of the group's attention, directing them to retreat backwards while the convicts started chasing. Swiftly pressing the key, Vivan opened the security door that was keeping the zombies at bay opened and they intervened, attacking the criminals and bathing her screen with white thermal-imaged blood. Her eyes watched and from the feed from various security cameras, she heard their cries of terror and pain. Vivian eventually closed her eyes and leaned back, drained of emotion and energy.

"_...Ringleader? Are you okay?_" asked one of the new recruits, peering into her office cubicle through the glass. Apparently, the entire scene was broadcast on the huge monitor in the room, the entire staff watching.

"…Yes," she muttered, scraping the bottom of her proverbial barrel and digging out those last few nuggets of vigor.

"_...We would've done the same,_" came a comforting encouragement, but she sat up and waved him off.

"I don't want your pity, your sympathy, or your empathy," she told him in a tired, cranky tone, "And saying that everyone else would've done it doesn't make anyone at ease, Priestly. Didn't they teach you that in Psychology 101?" She had read his resume before, seeing that he was a college student with a high-level of psychology hardwired into his system. The only thing that was failing him was his ability to separate himself from the subject and view things objectively.

"_Yeah, but-_"

"I don't need a pep talk or therapy," she replied in a strict tone, "What I did saved lives, and that's more than what others can say. Moral ambiguity and all, the mission has been carried out with minimal casualties to our side, and that's more than enough for me." She lightened up when she saw that he was unsure and gave a small smile that was forced somewhat.

"Now get to work before you I smother your ass with a Care Bear," she joked, making Priestly chuckle and throw his hands up in surrender. When he finally made his way back to the desk, she sighed and removed her headphones, turning the mike off.

"Moral ambiguity…" she spoke softly, tiredly sinking into her seat, "…That's a good one." After mocking herself, Vivian got up and left, leaving her headphones to sit on her desk, the light of the bloody mess caused by the zombies on her screen giving it an eerie white glow before it shut down for night.

* * *

><p>chiv-id: Yeah, as funny as the title sounds, it ain't all fun and games for Viv over there. And in the mean time, the four time-traveling hooligans are most likely going to be ripping the plane apart before they get to Hawaii. Hmm...LULZ, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this new chapter! I know that there was a lot discussed, and if you didn't get any of it, or it contradicts something story-based or whatevs, drop a <strong>REVIEW<strong>. And even if it's not a criticism, drop a review anyway! Wanna know if you guys like it or not, because it nobody likes it, I don't really know if I should continue it...

**OH, AND THERE WILL BE ONE-SHOTS COMING UP. AND THERE WILL BE REQUESTS!** Yeah, so if you'd like a one-shot about something in this story, drop me a prompt in a review and I'll get to work on it! Always wanted to try that and it seems like a great way to work out writer's block stress. LULZ, so please, **REVIEW**. Until later, bai bai!


	9. Aloha

chiv-id: WHAT IT BEEEEEEE? Ugh, been so long already...*smacks self*. Derp, anyways, I was actually having a Writer's Block with this story and eventually, after watching a few movies *cheats like it's nobody's business* I got back into the swing of things! So, I hope you enjoy this next chapter of the Information Age!

Disclaimer: Treyarch owns pretty much everything, so only Viv and the other peeps not mentioned are mine.

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 7: Aloha

_**[SAVING GRACE] approaching landing vectors. ETA: 1 hour.**_

_**Fuel Level: 24%. Recommended refueling at next touchdown.**_

_**Point of Interest: Lounge. Members: Federal Air Marshal Williams and Ex-Marine Raider Tank Dempsey**_

_**0700 hours, January 25**__**th**__**, 2012**_

"Good morning, Mr. Dempsey," Williams greeted smoothly, wearing a rumpled white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, "Did you have a good night's rest?" Dempsey walked into the lounge area with one hand up his white wife beater, scratching his chest, the other reaching out towards a chair haphazardly, still a bit dazed and sleepy. He eyed the sky marshal with feigned interest before noticing Rick coming with a tray of beverages on top, sitting down with a tired 'whumph' sound.

"You look like you need some wake-up juice," the older man chuckled and gestured to Rick for the coffee, "Stayed up late last night? Nursing the old sucker punch there?"

"Shut it, Ray," Dempsey muttered with some contempt, although he couldn't really be mad at the guy. Williams was just doing what a handler was supposed to do: keep his merchandise in prime condition. Dempsey remembered what it felt like to have a handler. It was like having a leash. A very _short_ leash.

"Come on, I'm just trying to figure out what happened last night," he took the two Styrofoam cups of coffee Rick offered and pushed one towards Dempsey, "Heard the scuffling and had to hold off the officers from interfering. I'd rather know what happened than getting you and your Russian friend the cuffs."

"…He ralphed on me," Dempsey mumbled as he took the coffee and drank it, the bitter taste combined with the temperature of the coffee waking him up more effectively, "Bastard should've known not to do it." The amused sky marshal chuckled and let the warmth from the cup soak through to his hands before drinking.

"With the amount you and Mr. Belinski were drinking, I was surprised he hadn't upped on you sooner!" Williams took the inventory list that Rick had given him the night before, unfolding it, "Let's see…about 33 shots of Stoli Elit vodka, 21 tumblers of IDOL vodka, an entire bottle of Zyr vodka, and about…half a dozen pints of Samuel Adams' Utopias."

"And what?" Dempsey snorted, not getting it.

"All of this alcohol is premium quality, enough to knock an elephant over after a couple of drinks," he whistled after, his eyebrows raised in an impressed fashion, "And you drained nearly all of it in a night. Gotta say, you might be needing a new liver soon."

"Drink while the drinking's good, Ray," the marine put a hand to his cheek and opened his jaw to remove the stiffness that gathered there, bruising becoming more and more apparent.

"We can get that looked at on the plane here," the sky marshal offered, putting the cup on the table and keeping his hands around it, "Or you can wait a few hours to get it checked out by some of the more trained professionals down at HQ."

"I'm fine, thanks," Dempsey thanked in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"…That barfing thing ain't the only reason you're upset, huh?" Williams sighed, leaning back, one arm resting on the arm rest, "So…what'd she say to you?"

"What?" Dempsey looked at the black man with furrowed eyebrows, "What 'she'?"

"C'mon," he gave him an unconvinced look, "There's only one person who can get someone upset with _that_ face. Shame and anger, guilt and hate. Ringleader likes making people feel contradicted and 'oxy-_moroned_'. Heh, it's her way of keeping people quiet while distancing them."

"Ringleader?" Dempsey asked again, most of this flying over his drowsy head. The sky marshal took Dempsey's coffee cup, which was empty, and pushed it towards Rick for another refill before giving it back.

"Vivian. Her codename is Ringleader," Williams explained, then looked to the guards and jerked his head to the door, telling them to scram and waiting until they left to continue, "She's the Chief of Operations and Director of **MAZ**, or Militarization Against Zombies. That's what the locals think it's called anyways. Viv always says it actually stood for _**Ma**__neo __**Z**__ombies_, 'to endure the zombies' in Latin. Then, she shortened it to MAZ and the true meaning was lost. Still gets her sulky when I remind her of it."

"So she's the leader?" the marine sat up better, now interested.

"In a way," Williams nodded, one thumb tapping the lip of his own coffee cup, "She handles the overseeing of most of the missions, organization of its members, supplies, and gear. Viv's a commander in every essence of the word, though she's more or less made of ice than of steel." He went quiet for a moment, the smile that had been tugging at his lips declining.

"You said something about her before," Dempsey tried to keep the conversation going, to get some dirt on the woman, "Quieting people and distancing them…"

"Yeah, she's…complicated like that," he admitted, scratching the back of his shaved head, "Vivian's the type to keep her affairs fairly private, so only a few people are allowed to be close to her. Newmann, our pilot? He's one of them. You'd probably have to talk to him to get the whole story about that, but rumors are that he was one of the first to be rescued by our lady in shining armor."

"That's not a rumor," Rick piped up, causing both men to stare at him and make him feel uncomfortable, "I was…I was in Newmann's group when Vivian first found us."

"Really?" Williams' eyebrows rose and he motioned for the man to sit down with them. After a small hesitant pause, Rick seated himself beside Dempsey, turning his body to the both of them.

"Well, yeah, half of the people here on this plane were in that group," he looked pointedly at where the guards were listening from the doorway, "We weren't the first she rescued though, but she told us we were the first large group she's been able to find."

"So she was actively searching for people? It's only been several weeks since the infection started," Williams was just as curious as Dempsey, not exactly as close to Vivian as the others were.

"I can't really talk about it, but Viv was…she knew how to get things done," Rick explained in a cryptic way, "That's why MAZ is still running like it is now, even though there must be hundreds of people already living on the bases. She's trying to figure out ways to expand without sacrificing the citizens."

"You talk like she's some hero," Dempsey callously uttered, remembering that same word she had told him the night before.

"Well…I think she is," Rick shrugged, then got himself a cup of coffee for the hell of it, "When we first got to Hawaii, she already had set up a small base and protected everyone like her life depended on it. She almost shot me when she thought I was infected, until I showed her that it was just a cut I got from slicing my finger with a kitchen knife. The people that she's decided to help, she stays loyal to them, even when they take it for granted."

"You sound like not everyone's appreciative of what she's done," Williams took a sip from his cup of joe.

"Well…I mean, some people don't like the decisions she makes from time to time, but it usually blows over after a couple of days," Rick comments in an unsure tone, "I mean, I got some news from Newmann this morning and…" The bartender stopped speaking and went quiet, eyes somewhat glassy and distant for a moment.

"And…?" Dempsey nudged in an impatient voice, taking another swig from his cup.

"…One of our rescue squads got hit pretty bad during a mission," Rick looked away, out one of the windows and at the white clouds passing by, "One of the guys from my group, Rodriguez, was the lieutenant. Newmann says he didn't make it. And people are blaming Viv for sending him and his men into that area, to get killed."

"Who were they rescuing?" Williams jumped back in, eyes serious and listening with full attention.

"Some families who got caught on the wrong side of Washington," the bartender looked down at the cup in his hands, at the dark liquid that bubbled slightly, "They accidentally wandered into a gang-controlled territory, so Viv sent Tango Team to deal with it."

"There's still people living in those parts of the country? With the zombies?" the black man raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"Yeah, but that's the first I've heard of 'em," Rick explained, sighing, "We lost a couple of good people, including Rodriguez. He…he was teaching me how to fire a gun." Dempsey looked at Rick and now began to notice how young he seemed. Despite the lanky figure and clothes, he couldn't be any older than in his early 20's, maybe even younger. It only proved when Rick's voice broke and went an octave higher during his last sentence, the grief getting to him.

"Sorry for your loss, Rick," Williams bowed his head in acknowledgement of the sad event.

"It's all right," the pale boy swallowed and had turned even paler during the conversation before regaining his composure, "Like Viv says, 'everyone's lost someone or something, so we can't complain'."

"No rest for the dead, huh, kid?" Dempsey chuckled, not really caring so much.

"A little respect, Mr. Dempsey," the sky marshal chastised gently before looking to Rick, "Please, continue."

"...I don't really know any more than that," the lad replied, looking down into his coffee, "I asked Viv if I could meet her and she says I can after you guys…"

"Sounds like you two are close," Williams chuckled, then stood up and came around to Rick, offering him a good firm squeeze on the shoulder, "Again, apologies for your friend."

"Thank you, sir," Rick nodded, then got up as the sky marshal went back to his seat, "I should probably be going back to set up the bar and buffet again…"

"All right, be seeing you, Rick," Williams raised his cup in farewell, Dempsey just grunting and tipping his head up briefly. After the lad went away, the guards came back on cue, having listened to most of the gossip anyway. Dempsey was just drinking his coffee again when the boy-scout marshal began pestering him again.

"You never did tell me what Viv said to you," he asked and Dempsey's eyebrows furrowed, one hand propped up against his forehead with his elbow supporting under it.

"…Lecturing me on being a hero," Dempsey finally replied and Williams threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Oh here we go," he put his hands back down, making the liquid in their cups jump, "Look, for all her big talk, she hates 'heroes'. Viv thinks they're just in it for the glory. If you want to give her a better impression of yourself, just tell her that some heroes earned their stripes. Got a mouthful about that the first time I met her." A corner of Dempsey's mouth went crooked and he couldn't help but imagine the small Asian woman trying to verbally muscle her way against the behemoth of a man before him. The guards were also subtly nodding with Williams, probably having gone through the very same thing.

"_Hello again, this is your captain speaking. All passengers, please report to the first class cabin, we're about to land in a few minutes,_" Dempsey looked up at Newmann's voice and he sighed as he got up, draining the last of his second cup of coffee before leaving to go to the place where he first got on, "_And if you look on your left, you'll see Hickam Air Force Base as well as Pearl Harbor._" Of course, when Newmann mentioned the famous area, Takeo was the first on the scene and staring at the failed target, obviously still standing despite the Kamikaze attacks back in '45. Dempsey almost laughed at Takeo's disapproving face before he saw Richtofen and Nikolai enter, somewhat souring at the Russian's blank stare.

"…Dempsey," the man acknowledged before sitting stiffly in a seat far away from him, Richtofen joining Nikolai in his row. Dempsey thus sat next to Takeo in retaliation, focusing more on the island they were about to land on. The actors and Williams also filed in, most of them staying away from the homicidal maniacs they had apparently boarded with. After the men had seen the scuffle between Dempsey and Nikolai, they were wary of their volatile states and potential to perhaps kill them with their bare hands. Gellar similarly sat away from them, although more or less because Nikolai was leering at her in a way that she wasn't exactly comfortable with. Actually, she seemed to be the only girl that was on the plane, so it just wasn't comfortable for her, period.

"Takeo, you seem upset," Williams noticed as he sat down in front of Dempsey and Takeo, the Japanese man turning to look at him.

"Place of great honor," he murmured before looking out the window again, "Many died in name of the Emperor! Yet it still stands. A worthy foe."

"I suppose that's one way to see it," the black man leaned back in his seat, "Although, most Americans viewed the Attack on Pearl Harbor as being a dark and terrible moment in history. Moreover, the day it was attacked was declared 'a date which will live in infamy' by Franklin D. Roosevelt." Takeo laughed and slapped a hand on the armrest in exuberation.

"To strike terror and fear in our enemies!" he grinned under that untrimmed black mustache that had grown over the years of fighting zombies, "That is victory!" Dempsey was about to tell Takeo to take it down a notch, still feeling the sting of patriotism nip his consciousness. He was still a full-blooded American and now that they were no longer bound by danger per se…

"Well…after that, the United States immediately declared war on Japan and mobilized fully against your country," Williams interceded, Takeo's face falling, "It seems that the most effective thing that the attack had done was injure and kill a great deal of people and unite the entirety of our country to retaliate." Takeo grew silent and sunk into his seat.

"We did not win the war…" he surmised and Williams nodded in confirmation before the Imperial soldier turned his head back to the window.

"However, I can't say that the Japanese _weren't_ victorious in their own right," the sky marshal added, Takeo glancing back, "I mean, despite the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii's most predominant race and culture is Asian, with Japanese being at the top of that tier. And Vivian? She's pure 100% Japanese as well." Takeo perked up and shifted in his seat before giving a somewhat recovered grin and a short barking laugh.

"Japanese know how to lead!" he boasted before turning that smug smirk to the window, quietly dwelling on the 'victory'. Williams looked at Dempsey and the marine looked back knowingly before snorting, deciding to keep his eyes glued to the tropical paradise. Or at least once _was_ the tropical paradise. He hadn't failed to notice that there were small grey dots that surrounding fence around the base, all swarming like agitated worker bees, yet Williams and none of the other crew members seemed fazed.

"It's something we've gotten used to," the black man seemed to notice the question in Dempsey's eyes, "At least the sun still shines and the beaches are beautiful. Weather's ain't too bad either, and on the scorchers, we can count on at least one of them undead bastards melting." Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the plane descended onto a lone stretch of runway and bounced a couple of times before slowing down hard, the force making the belts dig into the passengers' stomachs.

"_All right folks, it's about 8:04 AM Pacific Standard Time here in Hawaii, the temperature is 76 degrees, and the weather is slightly cloudy with some chance of showers,_" the captain's voice rang out, alerting the passengers to their approach to the landing gate, "_For our high class passengers, Mrs. Prinze, Mr. Trejo, Mr. Englund, and Mr. Rooker, whatever baggage you brought on board will be brought off the plane. For our special guests, please feel free to leave your belongings here. You will be given an explanation in full once you've met your guide. We hope you've had a good flight and thank you for flying the [Saving Grace] way. Newmann, out._" The plane slowly turned into the tarmac and connected to the terminal, a slight shuddering running through the transport before completely shutting down. Once the seat belt sign was turned off, the actors immediately rushed out of the plane, not bothering to take anything with them, considering they really had nothing on them, and met their families. Dempsey watched Trejo lean against the pillar and look out to the skies for his family, Gellar kissing her husband and child, Englund grasping hands with his wife, and Rooker getting a talking to from his mother. Quite the characters. Meanwhile, the four time-traveling fighters de-boarded the plane and were met with…no one.

The entire gray and white speckled floor was only filled the actors' families and soldiers, the gleaming of their riot shields and their immovable-looking forms lining the entire gate. Black vinyl seats with metal arm rests ominously went on for miles and the once-sterile clean smell seemed to have gone stale and almost stifling in taste and in smell. The plants outside moved to the invisible and soundless wind while the sunlight streamed through the windows of the terminal.

"Hey, Ray," Dempsey looked to the sky marshal who was popping some Eclipse gum into his mouth, "Where the hell's our 'guide'?" Takeo was staring at the runway crew who happened to be mostly Asian and Nikolai's finger was twitching on the vodka bottle he oh-so-nicely lifted from Rick's bar on the plane. Richtofen himself seemed anxious and laughed feebly when he saw some of the receiving staff staring at the German, and particularly, his Nazi attire.

"She's right there," Ray pointed over to a doorway where a couple of soldiers were blocking the entrance, but an 'atten-tion!' made them shift and move out the way, giving way to a small Japanese woman. Dempsey's eyes went wide, then his eyebrows quirked in interest. While he had only seen the woman digitally in somewhat gritty quality and perhaps maybe half of her at best, Vivian in person was certainly much more…interesting. She may have been small, but it was clear from her slight hourglass shape that she was packing more than she was showing.

"Well, it's about time we met in person," she pushed her glasses up with a single finger yet again, a trademark of hers. The other men also seemed to take an interest in her and their eyes observed the conservative attire she was wearing: a black button-up blouse with a grey form-fitting jacket, grey slacks that covered all the way to her feet, and black-pointed slip-ons. Her hair-do was put into a bun and long black strands hung from it, short bangs framing her face nicely. Some sort of tension seemed to build as they stood there, staring at her, the soldiers also raising their guns slightly in recognition of it.

"Vivian!" Rick pushed past the seemingly frozen fighters and was about to hug her, but drew back suddenly, the soldiers shifting almost defensively. However, she just smiled and tucked an arm around her waist, waving the men off with her free hand dismissively and they backed off.

"Rick, it's good to see you," she put the waving hand to his shoulder and he grinned, put at ease by her words, then stopped smiling as he checked her closely.

"Viv, you-"

"Don't worry about it," Vivian gave him a playful punch in the shoulder, "Once I get these four briefed, we'll grab some food and I'll be right as rain, Rick." With that, he nodded and stood by her, turning to look back as she focused her attention on the oddball crew.

"Gentlemen, I welcome you to Hawaii," she walked towards them slowly, the clacking of her shoes echoing across the floor, "And **MAZ HQ**, home to the only known organized military-sanctioned forces left in these waters." Vivian smirked as she saw them continuing to stare at her.

"_Aloha._"

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><p>chiv-id: WOOOOOTTTT Got through another one! Well, as you can see, we finally touched down in Hickam with everyone and finally, the boys have met Viv in person! Of course, now the real actions going to happen since we have all of the characters finally joined together, and seriously, I'm not kidding you, we're gonna have some REAL fun with this, so, here's a quick preview and remember<strong>: REVIEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!<strong>

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><p><strong>Next Time on The Information Age:<strong>

"Viv, how bad is it really?" Rick asked over a cup of coffee and some ramen, Vivian sighing as she took her glasses off and massaged at her poor eyes.

"...We're losing people I'm afraid we can't afford to lose," she admitted, sitting down with him at the table with her own ramen, "Deidre, the school teacher, got infected right in front of the kids' eyes. Now, I have a bunch of psychologists tending to those children instead of to the soldiers who have no doubt already lost their minds. And Rodriguez...damn it, if only those weapons were green-lit none of it would've happened." Rick put a hand over hers, Vivian's tensing slowly subsiding as she sighed and turned her hand over, gripping his in hers.

"I mean, yeah, but that's what the training camps are for-"

"Not enough," she quickly rejected, squeezing his hand, "Too many uneducated people, too little time. And let's face it Rick, these people are civilians, not soldiers. They're already showing cracks and at this point, our numbers swelling to the point where, if a riot broke out, we wouldn't be able to contain it. Stir-crazy, schizophrenia, signs of mental deterioration...it doesn't matter if they're infected, they're already sick."

"But, what about the heat melting their skin off their bones or whatever? Can't we outlast them? I mean, it's a shot, right?" the naive boy asked, starting to panic, but Vivian squeezed his hand again, an apologetic look from her eyes calming him down. She hadn't meant to frighten him.

"We can't keep doing this, Rick," she told him, eyes serious, "Every time we lose one of our veterans, it's another strike towards our extinction. We have to find a cure. Or may God have mercy on all our souls."


	10. On Top

**chiv-id: ZOMFG PEOPLE, A NEW CHAPTER OF THE INFORMATION AGE? You guys probably thought this went on permanent hiatus like all my other stories, but NOPE! This chapter has been sitting on my computer for ages, and I finally got around to finishing it after that writer's block went away. SO, I will not delay this chapter any further! Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The Call of Duty franchise and Nazi Zombie spin-off storyline all belong to Treyarch. I only own this story and all the new characters.**

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><p>The Information Age<p>

Chapter 8: On Top

_**Transpired Event #104. MAZ Meeting #70.**_

_**Present: MAZ Chief Director Vivian Sakamoto and [CLASSIFIED]**_

_**Location: Temporary Base of Operations, Hickam Air Force Base, Lower Lobby**_

_**0815 hours, January 25**__**th**__**, 2012**_

"Rick, go get some rest, all right?" Vivian asked, gently touching Rick's upper arm with a soft expression on her face, "I'll come get you when it's done." The young man nodded before making his way past the armored guard, Vivian hardening her gaze as she turned her attention back on the four men who were staring at her.

"Seems like you're pretty close with the kid," Dempsey finally managed to speak up, making Vivian train her gaze on him specifically first. It took him a mere second to notice it, but Dempsey saw that she was no longer wearing her glasses, and it caused her to look a great deal more pleasing from his view.

"He's a good friend," Vivian shrugged noncommittally before her eyes flicked to the actors, watching them as they happily introduced their families to one another. She looked at one of the guards stationed near them and nodded, getting the man and several others to corral the celebrities and herd them out. Then, Ray stepped up and approached the Japanese director, a small smile forming on her face.

"Williams, good to see you. Did you have a safe flight?" Her attitude towards the sky marshal wasn't as warm and inviting, but it was more of a firm alliance, the tall African-American man coming over and holding his hand up. Vivian took it in a solid grip and shook before raising her eyes expectantly, having to tilt her head back somewhat just to meet his gaze.

"You probably heard from Newmann, but it was all right," the black man grinned and tipped his head to her before walking towards a large gray doorway, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be heading on over to the cafeteria to eat. Not enough time between the morning and the landing for breakfast. Oh, and reports will come later, I haven't forgotten." With that, he exited and Vivian looked back at the remaining members.

"Quite ze arrangement, Vivian," Richtofen spoke up next, beady eyes scanning the men in black armor, "Those vouldn't happen to be for _us_, vould it?"

"Of course not," she turned looked back at them and gave another open-palmed gesture to make them lower their weapons again, the troops having raised them when Richtofen began analyzing them, "These are for the supposed risks I've been hearing about on the plane. You're not a risk, _are you_?" All jokes aside, there was a note of seriousness in her voice that made Richtofen give a scoffing chuckle while the others stepped back somewhat, eyes now wary. A corner of her lips upturned, mischievous and coy, before she turned around, walking towards the armed security detail behind her and creating a hole in their human wall to gesture to the doorway Ray walked through earlier.

"C'mon, we're going to have you briefed in a conference room on the upper deck," Vivian spoke, watching as Takeo's hand remained on his sword, but became the first to answer to her words, nodding to Vivian before passing through a large gray doorway.

"'We'? I thought you were in charge?" Dempsey asked as he went next, Nikolai then Richtofen following shortly after.

"Just because there's a Zombie Apocalypse doesn't mean the chain of command is any less significant, Mr. Dempsey," she replied curtly, walking quickly to catch up to Takeo, "As such, I'll need you to be just a tad more courteous…no, just be courteous, period, to our President. Like I said, those men are only for show if you remain within proper codes of conduct, boys." They walked in a very brisk, business-like fashion, the gravity and weight of her words somehow pressing down on each of the four men's minds. Even now, the term 'President' was a hefty thing, and when they reached a set of doors bearing the United States Seal, the atmosphere only became further wrought with tension.

"Gentlemen, let me introduce you…to Acting President and the Secretary of Homeland Security," she opened the doors and they saw an elderly white man sitting at the head of a large desk in front of them, "Mr. Howard S. Rutgard." They filed in after her, the four of them hovering behind her while staring at the supposed President of the United States. There were two more people in the room, however: an elderly woman, most likely of the same descent as Vivian, and another young Asian female who seemed to be Vivian's double almost: dressed in dapper conservative wear and a solemn expression. Vivian nodded to them both after her entourage entered the room fully, the two women nodding back in greeting before turning their attention to the men.

"'Acting'? That mean he not President of – _dah!_ – " Vivian silenced Nikolai with a very subtle, yet surprisingly painful back-kick to his shin, right on the bone, before placing the back of her hand to his lips to remind him, not having turned around once during the affair. The others shied from Vivian when she did so; not quite believing before that moment that she would have taken action herself if they'd not followed her requests. Moreover, have enough power to make the drunk, nerve-damaged Russian actually grunt in pain. Nikolai swallowed his words, but uttered a few curses in Russian to compensate for the now sore shin, eyes glaring daggers at her.

"And of course, Representative Mizuki Hiroto and her executive assistant, Stephanie Suzutani," Vivian turned her hand to direct their attention to the two others in the room, the young woman bowing formally while the elder one nodded with a hand gripping a smooth-handled wooden cane pensively. Takeo bowed back, respecting the tradition while the other three men just looked on.

"Greetings, President Rutgard," Vivian returned her attention to the President and gave a small bow in respect, "I've brought them as you've asked. I believe we can proceed as promised?" As the time-travellers observed the person in question, they noted the frail, thin form and shock of white hair that surrounded his balding cranium. They also did not neglect to see the unshaven stubble that was dusting his chin like powder, but his eyes were sharp and alert, belying the tired appearance he showed. He had an almost completely buttoned-up blue collared shirt with the sleeves half-rolled up, rumpled and in need of a good ironing, with a distinctive blood spray stain streaking up his chest diagonally. Apparently, things were going so fast, even the Substitute President didn't have the time for personal hygiene.

"My God…so it wasn't just mad ramblings…" President Rutgard had a large glass ashtray with several already-used cigarettes in it placed before him, picking up the cigarette that was still smoking and putting it in his mouth to take one long drag before blowing a large plume from his nostrils, "Heh…Kennedy, the first Zombie slayer President in America." He leaned back in his chair, one hand still holding that cigarette, the other clutching an arm rest and pushing slightly so he was leaning to the side somewhat.

"Does that make you second? Or…'acting' second?" Nikolai asked, Vivian giving him a warning nudge with her elbow.

"Now, now, Ms. Sakamoto," the acting President waved the hand with the cigarette to make waves of smoke waft in the air, "It's all right. These boys have been through hell. Questions are to be expected and I ain't going to deny them that right. Sorry, ladies, just a small detour in our conversation, if y'all wouldn't mind." Hiroto and Suzutani shook their heads, allowing him to continue as they remained silent, seemingly observing and eyeing the four time-travellers. Rutgard used his free hand to press a button on a remote that was next to the ashtray, the projector in the ceiling turning on to reveal the image of the White House Seal. There was no real atmosphere of formality, so the Zombie slaying-group relaxed and when he motioned towards the seats, they all sat down with the exception of the guards around the room, Suzutani who stood behind Hiroto stalwartly, and Vivian who decided to continue standing.

"I'm 'acting' because I wasn't elected into office. When Armageddon struck, the President, the real one that everyone voted for mind you, was infected right off the bat. God bless his soul," Rutgard bowed his head for a second in silence before continuing, "And because the President was dead, with no real time to elect a new one considering the situation, the Vice-President became the new President, or 'acting'. In legal terms, it's called the 'United States Presidential Line of Succession'."

"But Viv said you were the…Secretary or something or other," Dempsey countered, one hand on his head as he tried to understand the new political history lesson he was being offered.

"Exactly," Rutgard put his cigarette down and picked the remote up, pressing another button and showing 19 other pictures, all of them crossed out except for his own which was last in the order, "This, fellas, is the United States Presidential Line of Succession. Each of these people here were once members of the White House…President, Vice-President, Speaker of the House, Secretary of State, Treasury, etc. Now, they either died or resigned."

"Which means…you got landed with the job," Dempsey finished, finally starting to understand it a bit, "Ain't there someone after you?"

"Nope!" Rutgard dropped the remote on another chair before slapping his palms against the arm rests definitely, "I'm the last. And as God as my witness, I will die trying before I run away like some of the others!"

"Mr. President, your blood pressure," Vivian spoke up again, the acting President calmed down somewhat and sat regularly in his chair.

"Mhmm," Rutgard cleared his throat and leaned forward, "So, as the possibly last and remaining President of these here United States of America, I'm asking you boys if you can do something for us…for our entire country. For humanity."

"Work for capitalist pigs? Never!" Nikolai had a bottle of Vodka in his hand, most likely having been taken off the plane, and he stamped it down hard on the table, enough to let everyone hear a resounding ring.

"…Like I said, for 'humanity'," Rutgard reiterated, his eyebrows drawn down to meet the outburst, "However, if you need a little more encouragement…" He glanced at Vivian and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before sighing. Vivian came over and leaned in close to Nikolai, putting her hand up to her mouth and whispering in his ear. Dempsey and the others didn't know her exact words, but he had a feeling it had to do with the Russian's favorite drink as Nikolai's face brightened considerably.

"Maybe for little while," the Russian took a swig of his vodka before sighing in contentment with the alcohol's numbing effects, "Capitalist pigs have good vodka."

"Hold on," Dempsey stood up and had his hands pressed firmly on the table, tilting his body towards Rutgard, "They wanna run tests on us, like _lab_ _rats_." The others visibly reacted to this and Takeo was the first to speak, also standing as he put a hand on his sword hilt. Vivian already felt a swirl of irritation make her blood pressure rise and she put a hand to her face, regretting ever having told the ballistic Yank.

"Tests? I don't like tests!" he got into stance as the soldiers around them became wary and prepared to fire, jumpy because of the look in Takeo's eye. Nikolai and Richtofen followed, the situation now seeming to be almost volatile until Vivian swiftly walked to Dempsey and slapped him on the back of his head, everyone turning in surprise and freezing at this action.

"You're really asking for it, _Viv_," Dempsey turned with eyes narrowed before she held up a piece of paper in front of face, the man recoiling from the black and white print that suddenly entered his vision.

"This…is a waiver. Each of you gets one. This protects your legal rights," she explained, lowering the paper and putting on the table in front of Dempsey before going around the room, defusing the situation, "Because this _still_ happens to be the United States of America. Like I told you before, Mr. Dempsey, we're not animals. We won't force you, but we are asking, and in the most polite and courteous manner if I might add. The President himself is bowing his head…the least you could do is show a little respect in return." The time travelers eventually sat back down and the soldiers in the room similarly returned to a relaxed state, although wary.

"…Whoo," Rutgard smirked and had his fingers wiping away small beads of sweat that had formed on his cheeks during the short stand-off, "You see why she's the Chief Director around here now, don't you boys?"

"Mr. President," she stood tall amongst them, gathering his attention, "Representative Hiroto. Now that we have them gathered, shown you that they are indeed real and…" Vivian, without Dempsey's permission, grabbed the collar of the green camo-jacket he had pulled off the plane and pulled it down, showing a bite mark that marred his skin. It was a bit faded, but the fleshy white ropy scar was unmistakable as it dotted around his deltoid.

"_Immune_, I believe I have the right to re-impose my proposal," she finished, her hand yanked when Dempsey jerked away from her, the man clutching at his collar while glaring at her, "Please, sanction my plan. We've no time to – "

"Ms. Sakamoto," the young aide by Hiroto's side spoke up, eyes scrutinizing the fiery woman before her, "Representative Hiroto and the President will make their decision in due time. It has been a mere few weeks since the infection started. Trying to mobilize such an extensive operation should and, if it were up to me, _will_ be considered and catalogued for another time."

"Drop the niceties, Stephanie," Vivian startled everyone as she sternly addressed her, having to take a small breath to calm herself somewhat, though the four time travelers were rather impressed, "You think that this small base of operations is going to hold all the survivors? We don't have the manpower to keep a place like this maintained and secure, so, _if it were up to me_, I'd be trying to think ahead a little instead of convincing myself that we're safe."

"We _are_ safe," Stephanie retaliated, both Hiroto and Rutgard putting the heads in their hands as they were subjected to their bickering, "We have food, water, shelter, guns, and a firm head of government here to delegate! If you think that we're not safe as is, then your operation will only threaten our survival further!" They were near mirror images of each other, although Stephanie was a bit younger in looks, but Vivian had a certain spark in her eye that made her positively vivid with energy. Dempsey and Richtofen were mildly surprised, having seen the tired-out version via video-phones on the plane ride.

"The path we're traveling down is that of a _slow_, _painful_ death," the MAZ Leader emphasized her words, her hand sweeping out to create effect, "Hawaii was never meant to be populated by so many people! We have no means of self-sustainment…and any land with bearing attributes are being inhabited by the walking dead! Weeks and men would be spent just bringing in a month's worth of supplies! In a war of attrition, we'd _lose_."

"You talk like those things are still human! They're mindless cannibals that can barely remain intact much less form an organized resistance!"

"You ever seen those things swarm around people? Oh, wait, I forgot, you're just a desk jockey who sits nice and safe behind others who would actually _sacrifice_ themselves for your 'safety'!"

"What about you, you crazy homicidal power-monger? You send people to their death without a bat of an eye! Is there a piece of ice where your heart is-?!"

"Enough!" the President stood up and the two women snapped their mouths closed, his blue eyes chastising them for even arguing at a time like this, "This decision is not yours to make, you or her. Representative Hiroto and I will discuss your idea, Ms. Sakamoto, but like Ms. Suzuki said, we're already running low on steam as is. And while we're at it, why don't you two find some buckets with ice and dunk your heads in 'em. We've don't need a couple of hot-heads bickering like a couple of hens on top of everything else going on." Stephanie gave a soured look before turning her head at Vivian, swiftly turning on her heel while jerking her chin up in an uptight attitude while walking away. Vivian, on the other hand, seemed slightly shocked that she'd been scolded before her expression melted into emotionless and she bowed, ignoring Stephanie while she slowly exited. Dempsey and the others got up to follow Vivian, glancing between the younger aide who walked ahead of them, then at Vivian. However, the President motioned for the four of them to stay to Vivan's surprise, but she nodded to her companions and they sat down at her motion.

"I thought I'd have to pry those two apart with a crowbar," he sighed and sunk into his chair, drained from having been in such a self-destructive conversation, "My apologies, Representative Hiroto, boys, they just got on my nerves. Those two've been fighting since they met and even more so ever since one of our districts was hit."

"Stephanie…blames Vivian for her sister's death, yeah…?" Hiroto spoke quietly, the first time the old woman had spoken up, and the five men in the room looked at her, "She died in tha' district. Vivian tried to save what little could, but…Lacy no make it." The four time travelers looked at each other somewhat before refocusing on the situation at hand.

"And now, those two're worse than a couple of alley cats in a bag hyped up on catnip," Rutgard shook his head before clearing his throat, "Ahh, but we can finally get to the main point…what say you about this plan, here, Hiroto? And of course, you'll have to agree to a few things yourself, boys…"

* * *

><p>It had been an hour since Vivian was in that room, humiliating herself in front of the President, and all she wanted was sleep. Unfortunately, there never seemed to be a break for the Director of MAZ. After dropping off the paperwork for the four time travelers' lodgings on the <em>Saving Grace<em>, Vivian was still needed for mission oversights, approvals, listening to personal complaints, and reading invoices which included the common hate mail, but onwards she pushed. As she slapped a 'VOID' stamp seal on the last letter that told her she was some cold-hearted bitch, as usual, Vivian stretched in her seat and looked around. The mission control room was now empty since everyone had already punched out for breakfast, but Vivian had stuck around to double-check their work and, of course, attend to any unforeseen circumstances with any of the teams that were still on-duty. Though she was still alert, Vivian took a little time to ease into her chair and just close her eyes, letting the stillness of the room wash over her.

How long had it been since things went her way? She had to ponder on this question carefully in her quiet solitude, the computer screens' light all softly pushing away the darkness as she laid there. Since the outbreak started, Vivian had to push for a lot of things. She had to push for her own survival, for starters, against the zombie populace. Then, against other survivors who would rather take from her than fend for themselves. Once she'd helped other people, Vivian then had to push against other upstarts in the group, who's radical ideas often clashed with hers and would endanger the group. Soon after that, when MAZ came into existence, she had to push for every little thing that came her way, from political policies to even who got the last God-damn Twinkie. The corners of her mouth twitched in an odd way, a half-smile that was lacking the energy she showed before.

"_All my life I had to fight,_" Vivian quoted from one of her favorite movies, _The Color Purple_, "_But I ain't never thought I'd have to fight in my own house!_"

"_The more things change,_" came a surly voice, and Vivian looked up from her chair a bit startled, "_The more they stay the same._ Still quoting Oprah I see." The director blinked and corrected herself when she saw a dark form move about the rows of chairs and tables, but eased up after seeing who it was: Colton Weberly. Vivian gave him an honest smile and stood up, leaving her box to envelop the man in a hug. He was quite a bit taller than her, nearing 6 feet, and always had the smell of some type of oil on him, whether it was cooking, petrol, or grease. Colton, or 'Cole', was the head handyman around MAZ Headquarters, and nearly shared the same demand that Vivian garnered since he was in charge of three main skill departments: the repair force, the transportation restoration center, and the cooking committee. Anything that was broken or wasn't working as well as choices on distributing food went through him and, of course, Vivian.

"Hey, I might quote Oprah, but you knew who I was quoting in the first place," Vivian retorted in a sigh, leaning into the hug heavily as she absorbed some of the warmth he radiated from his tanned skin. She could tell that he'd been in the cafeteria more recently, the smell of peaches reaching her nose in a delightful way.

"Ooh, ooh, easy Ms. Thang," he chuckled, Cole let her hug him, but he gingerly let his arms go around her, "I was working with Charlie out on D-Block and they had me there since early morning. Forgot the sun block and all…"

"Sorry Cole," Vivian apologized as she started to back away, but Cole had her firmly in his grasp, muscles taut to keep her there.

"Hold on, hadn't seen you since the Control Room had its fangs in you," he laughed as he bent his head down to place his lips on the top of her noggin.

"I could say the same about you and the Cafeteria," she joked before letting Cole have his fill. She flicked her eyes upward and watched him, his dark brown eyes closed as he swung twisted their bodies gently, tawny locks that had grown too much hanging about his face. He was her right-hand man, and had been there with her from nearly the very beginning. While many held animosity for the cold woman and her directorial decisions, the 29-year-old handyman often received affection and warm exchanges instead.

Especially from his _girlfriend_: Vivian. Not many knew of their relationship, since the both of them were busy for the most part, but every once in a while, when the hardships of life died down somewhat, they'd meet for special occasions such as these. And Vivian always seemed to feel so much better when he was around.

"So…how'd the meeting go?" Cole asked, drawing back slightly so he could brush a lock of black hair from her face.

"Ughh…" Vivian made the noise at the back of her throat, "Terrible. I can't believe I made such a disgrace out of myself like that. I mean, I knew getting into a fight with Stephanie was unprofessional, but I just threw myself in there and stooped to her belly-snaking level! Maybe I'm just - "

"Tired and cranky?" he offered, and the slight disturbed and upset expression she was showing melted into a small smile, "Listen, no matter what 'fight' you might've gotten into, all that matters is you got your point across and supported it. Then you let the powers be do the rest. That's how politics works, right?" Vivian gave a little chuckle as she leaned into his embrace once more.

"Mmmm…more or less," Vivian looked up and reached up on her toes to his lips, "Thanks for coming. I know you've been working even harder since all the new arrivals, but you came anyway."

"We've both been busy, dove," Cole kissed her again, and Vivian closed her eyes. She loved that nickname: 'dove'.

"And I'm sorry," Cole let her go so that she could lean back to look at him, "I haven't been able to find _that_ yet since the last patrol. I don't know who'd – "

"It's fine. I've been meaning to replace it for a long time now in any case."

"The guards from Rodriguez's block are going to give you trouble without it."

"I know. And I'll deal with it when I need to. I can't be given preferential treatment after all, even if I am the Director."

"I can talk to them for you. They'll be in a spot of trouble if their group knew they were being put last on the repair list for their behavior." Vivian grinned widely at his sweet gesture, but she just hugged him tight before finally separating herself from him.

"As tempting as it sounds, they're only doing it out of mourning. I…I should've double checked the green-lighting of that mission after all," she admitted and bit her lip, "I even fired the poor girl who was overlooking it. I submitted an invoice to pardon her, but she hasn't come to see me yet." The guilt was still there, obvious to anyone who looked at her now, but Vivian did a good job of disguising it when she was with someone else.

"That wasn't your fault. And you were right, if she couldn't do her job, then that puts everyone else at risk. We need good, experienced, and professional people at the helm," Cole put a hand to her cheek and Vivian glanced at him, "It's like giving a 5-year-old kid a hammer and telling him to nail a 2 by 4 on a roof, you know." She nodded, but Cole could see that his words only slightly lessened the pain.

"…Have you gone to talk to Rick yet? I know how close that boy was to Rodriguez…"

"I was going to see him now. I have about an hour to talk to him, then I have to go revisit the President. And finally, I have to tour the grounds with our…guests."

"Mmmm…then I best not keep you," Cole kissed her forehead gently, "Just remember, dove: we made it this far. Don't give up." Vivian nodded, then, like a gentle ocean breeze, Cole was gone. She sighed as she sat down on the edge of the nearest table, staring longingly after the man. Colton Weberly was a Godsend, she felt, the only person she could really be herself around as opposed to the warmonger that she became during work hours. With one last wistful glance, Vivian steeled herself and dialed Rick's number before she began traveling to the cafeteria.

* * *

><p>Vivian wasn't surprised that the boy knew about what happened to Rodriguez, to be honest. Rick had the unfortunate habit of taking his laptop anywhere and the MAZ Newsletter was always updated 24-7 by the team back home. And by the sad, long, pale look on Rick's face, Vivian knew that he had learned Rodriguez's fate. She sat him down at a private booth away from the other bustling crowds of people and explained the whole affair in detail to him. And as she'd expected, Rick began to cry.<p>

It was a deep painful moan that first arose from him, and Vivian immediately crossed from her side of the booth to his in a heartbeat. For nearly 10 minutes did he cry until he managed to get it under control, and all the while Vivian held his shaking shoulders to give him some semblance of comfort. After another 5 minutes of regaining his composure, it did her heart some good to see Rick feeling a bit better as he gave her a sad, albeit calm smile. She had finally told him about what had happened to Rodriguez, the most painful part of their conversation, and after a heart-felt chat about his soul going to a better place, Vivian had fetched them something to eat. Now, she was just updating him on the current state of affairs.

"Viv…how bad is it really?" Rick asked quietly over a cup of coffee and some ramen, his eyes still partially red from the sobbing. Vivian sighed as she took her glasses off and massaged at her poor eyes.

"...We're losing people I'm afraid we can't afford to lose," she admitted, sitting down with him at the table with her own ramen before closing the curtain to the private booth, "Deidre, the school teacher, got infected right in front of the kids' eyes. Now, I have a bunch of psychologists tending to those children instead of to the soldiers who have no doubt already lost their minds. And Rodriguez...damn it, if only those weapons were green-lit none of it would've happened." Rick put a hand over hers, Vivian's tensing slowly subsiding as she sighed and turned her hand over, gripping his in hers.

"I mean, yeah, but that's what the training camps are for-"

"Not enough," she quickly rejected, squeezing his hand, "Too many uneducated people, too little time. And let's face it Rick, these people are civilians, not soldiers. They're already showing cracks and at this point, our numbers swelling to the point where, if a riot broke out, we wouldn't be able to contain it. Stir-crazy, schizophrenia, signs of mental deterioration...it doesn't matter if they're infected, they're already sick."

"But, what about the heat melting their skin off their bones or whatever? Can't we outlast them? I mean, it's a shot, right?" the naive boy asked, starting to panic, but Vivian squeezed his hand again, an apologetic look from her eyes calming him down. She hadn't meant to frighten him.

"We can't keep doing this, Rick," she told him, eyes serious, "Every time we lose one of our veterans, it's another strike towards our extinction. We have to find a cure. Or may God have mercy on all our souls."

"Is that why you're pushing so hard for…the plan?" the boy asked, Vivian blinking as she leaned back, her eyes downcast as she nodded subtly, "And why you're pushing _yourself_ so hard?"

"We're all pushing ourselves hard…these are the times when we have to dig deep and hold strong…"

"Yeah, but you're working yourself to death!"

"…"

"Viv…maybe if you let me come along in your plan, I could – "

"No, Rick, you know your orders," Vivian rebutted as gently as she could, touching one hand to his cheek, "I've fought and kicked through this entire God-damn apocalypse. Don't make me fight you on this, too…" He paused for a moment before nodding slightly, her hand pulling away with a small relieved sigh on her lips.

"I'll contact you…every day," she promised, ruffling his hair affectionately before he slapped her hands away in a silly grin.

"Oh c'mon Viv, you're not my mom!" he laughed, Vivian coming over and giving him a noogie as she laughed with him.

"Maybe a big sister then!" she horsed around a little, savoring those small moments of normalcy before she settled back in her chair and chuckled, sipping her coffee afterwards, "They may be done soon, Rick…I'll be needing to get back, so let's finish this up quickly, all right? You can even come along if you like." He nodded and they ate their meals in hurried silence, managing to eat their allotted food before Rick escorted Vivian back to the doors that lead into the conference room where the President, Hiroto, and the veterans talked. Unfortunately, it seemed that Stephanie beat them to the punch and she was sitting outside on one of the benches, her expression going bitter upon Vivian's arrival.

"Suzuki," Vivian replied, an ice-cold smile matching the frosty dead look in her eyes as she sat on the bench opposite of her opponent with Rick sitting beside her.

"Sakamoto," she seemed to have a curdled look when she said Vivian's last name, almost as if someone just stuffed a load of sweaty gym socks up her nose, "I trust you can keep this civil?"

"It's your fault that we were ejected from the room, _Steph_," the older woman replied, turning her head away to look at the doors and listen, "All you had to do was hold your thoughts until the end, but you, expectantly, had to try and intervene."

"I intervened to prevent you from dominating the entire room," Stephanie returned, narrowing her eyes, "You were trying to strong-arm the President and Representative Hiroto into agreeing with you, you control freak!" Rick prevented Vivian from rising to Stephanie's taunt, the Asian woman nodding to Rick in thanks before giving an unfriendly look back. The other female seemed to take this as a victory, which boiled Vivian's blood, before the doors opened and the four men exited. The three outside, Vivian, Stephanie, and Rick, stood up in their presence and Dempsey looked between the two of them, smirking.

"Another catfight?" he asked, seemingly almost eager for the bloodbath before Richtofen came over to Vivian and handed her a folded paper. She blinked and took it, opening to find Richtofen's signature on the waiver, her eyes flicking up to Richtofen's.

"Don't bother, only _I_ agreed to ze testing," he put his hands behind his back, bowing his head towards her to tell her. Vivian looked back at the waiver, a bit speechless that it was _Richtofen_ of all people who would have agreed to the procedure before tucking it in a pocket of her jacket, giving a small nod in approval.

"Ah, penguin!" Nikolai came towards Rick with open arms and he slapped the boy on the back, "You have good vodka for me, right? Where is it?" Rick was nearly sent flying with the hit, but he managed to provide a smaller bottle for Nikolai after hearing Vivian's admission that she had promised the Russian all the vodka they could deliver. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth before spitting the cork out and glugging some of its content down, grinning loopy as he hooked the arm with the bottle around Rick's shoulders. Stephanie pushed past them when the doors opened and sent Vivian a nasty look before she disappeared to speak to Hiroto, Vivian just ignoring it again as she looked to Richtofen, then Dempsey, and then the others.

"So, mind if I ask what went on in there?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she talked to them.

"Just asked if we wanted to get tested on," Dempsey shifted his eyes suspiciously towards Richtofen, "And he's the only one who said 'yes', the masochist." The German laughed hysterically again, the American almost ready to beat the man to a pulp before Vivian turned and looked back at them.

"Did he say anything about accepting my proposal?" Vivian looked at them from the corner of her eyes, Nikolai burping before nodding.

"President approve!" he shoved his bottle up in victory, then lowered it, "Approve…whatever plan is…"

"What _is_ plan?" Takeo asked, turning to Vivian with a raised eyebrow. The others similarly turned to her, and Vivian smiled with the most triumphant glee anyone had seen, the first emotion besides anger that she'd shown them since their first contact. Rick joined her in that excitement, the only other one amongst them that knew of their plan, and Dempsey had to wonder what he'd gotten himself into. Vivian almost couldn't believe it, but at the same time, she was ecstatic beyond belief.

And the only thing that made the moment even better was Stephanie's frustrated scream from inside the room. Oh yeah. _It was good to be on top._

* * *

><p><strong>chiv-id: AND THAT'S THE END. Jesus, I hope that was a good enough chapter for all y'all. Took over a YEAR to do that. Anyway, just as always, REVIEW PEOPLE, I LOVE ME SOME REVIEWS. Here's a sneak peek for you guys of the next chapter in series!<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Next Time on the Information Age:<strong>

_BAAZZZZTTTT...BAAAZZZZZTTTTTTT..._

Vivian cringed at the sound of the alarm, and as expected, there the guards were. Hart, Nazzer, and Grant. Vivian kept her cool as they approached her group, the three burly men dressed in military camouflage and black body armor grinning at her as if they were in on some joke no one else knew.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't our fearless leader. First one into the fray, right, _Director_?" Hart teased and he stepped in front of her, preventing her from moving further beyond the metal detector's area, all 278 pounds of him. It often made Vivian wonder if he ever really did change after apocalypse, since it was obvious his size didn't. He could've already be considered a zombie by the amount of food this man ate.

"You know the drill, Sakamoto. All metal devices in the tray over here," Grant stepped in next, the thin black man circling around her to tap his hand gun against the plastic bin. It rolled just a millimeter and the metal conveyor belt gave off an irritating squeal, showing it was in need of a good greasing. Dempsey could smell trouble, and it wasn't hard to see that the men before the woman weren't going to let her go.

"I don't want to make a scene, Grant. I'm just showing our guests the compound," Vivian motioned to the Dempsey and the others, with Dempsey eyeing the three guards seriously, "Just take me to an interrogation room if you have to, but do _not_ make me do this in public."

"Why not? No one's judging you," Nazzer finally threw his hat into the fray, "I mean, besides what happened to Rodriguez. You remember, right? After all, you were the one who got him killed - "

"Hey!" Rick came forward and pushed Nazzer away, the blue-eyed Caucasian stumbling back with a grin on his face as the kid stood in front of Vivian, "It's not her fault, so just back off!"

"Or what?" Hart merely moved a few inches in Rick's direction and the tank of a man nearly bounced Rick onto his back had it not been for Nikolai. The Russian caught him before setting the man straight, Rick giving him a nod in thanks before Nikolai glared at Hart.

"No touch my penguin!" Nikolai shouted before pulling out an empty bottle and jabbing the bottom into Hart's stomach, causing the heavy-set soldier to double over. Then, a straight knee to Hart's face caused the soldier to fall backwards, the blood trickling from his broken nose flowing into his mouth as Nikolai stood over him victoriously. Nazzer and Grant immediately drew their guns, but Richtofen had already managed to sneak behind Grant, a scalpel held just underneath his chin. The black man could feel it when he swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to rise against it.

"No need to get touchy, he'll live!" Richtofen laughed in an insane way and Grant dropped his gun, holding his hands up as he tried to get a good look at the man holding him hostage.

"Release Grant or I will put you down!" Nazzer shouted, but was blindsided by Dempsey as he clocked the soldier, Nazzer's face flying to the side from the impact.

"That wasn't for you," Dempsey warned before Richtofen had a chance to say something, "I just didn't like the way his mouth was flying off, ass-maggo - "

"All right, _ENOUGH!_" Vivian's words rang out over the commotion and everyone turned to look at her. During the fight, she'd been trying to stop the combatants in a level-headed voice, but as soon as Dempsey jumped in, she couldn't keep calm anymore. Nazzer rubbed his face sorely and backed away from the ex-Marine, the sore loser's eyes narrowed while the victor was looking away.

"Did I not say I wanted to _avoid _causing a scene?" Vivian walked over to Richtofen, putting her hands on her hips as she stared at him, "Hmmm?!" Richtofen and Grant looked at each other before the doctor let the scalpel fall away, his hands going up to placate her anger towards him.

"Viv, they started it!" Rick went to the angered woman, putting a hand on her shoulder, "It's not their fau - "

"I don't care who started it, I am _finishing_ it," Vivian emphasized, turning to face the boy with a fierce expression before she calmed herself, "...Everyone is entitled to their own opinions."

"...Vivian - "

"No, Rick. It's fine. However, pulling guns on our guests is not - " Vivian started towards Nazzer and began to speak, but noticed the shifty-eyed soldier pulling a large knife from his back, "Dempsey, _look out!_" Nazzer vaulted from the ground towards Dempsey, lunging with his knife first with a snarl. The ex-Marine tried to turn to defend himself, but Nazzer had a clear shot at his target's knee caps. His blade reached and neared its way to cutting Dempsey's flesh, but Vivian was able to dash in, putting her own body in front before Nazzer could attack Dempsey. Rick could only look on in horror as Nazzer sliced in a wide arc, unable to stop his hand even though his eyes registered the fact that it was Vivian he was viciously swiping at and not Dempsey.

"_VIVIAN!_"


End file.
